


By Secret and Divine Signs

by ChristinMKay



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-typical mentions of horror, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, No beta we die like archival assistants, Sick Fic, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, the pining may have gotten a bit out of hand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 81,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinMKay/pseuds/ChristinMKay
Summary: Jon was very much convinced that Martin was not his soulmate. No one this incompetent, insecure, and insane  enough to wear a yellow jumper like that could be Jon Sims’ soulmate.The last weeks had definitely shown Martin that he and Jon were not soulmates. Martin was sure that his soulmate could never be as much of a dick as Jon was.---Or: Due to a rocky start Jon and Martin fail to realize that they are soulmates when they first meet. The constant teasing from their co-workers and supernatural entities  interfering doesn't make things any easier.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 390
Kudos: 512





	1. Knew you'd pull my world apart I knew it from the start

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I am super dyslexic and while google drive is really good with pointing out all the spelling mistakes, there probs are still a few in there sorry about that.
> 
> Fanfic title is a verse taken from Walt Whitman's [Among The Multitude](https://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/81)
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [Can't Look Away by Seafret](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W7MHU5TgqNQ)

Jon Sims was not one to believe in the supernatural. Well, that was not quite true. It was not that he didn’t believe in it per se, he was just sceptical of it. Or rather he _pretended_ to be sceptical of it. His own encounter with it in his youth he had, like most of his feelings, deeply repressed, bottled up, and safely and securely locked away. Things he was sceptical about were a lot less likely to hurt him, he had decided.

Just like the supernatural, soulmates were another issue that Jon was deeply sceptical about. There was no historical, no scientific, and no religious explanation for them, not that he was one for religion either. It was nothing but an odd occurrence that had affected every single human on earth for millenial and yet, no one knew exactly how it worked. 

No one knew how the soulmate identifying marks, the first words your soulmate would ever say to you, showed up on one's wrist. No one knew who decided which two people were soulmates. Or what kind of soulmates. Platonic soulmates were just as common as romantic ones, and very, very occasionally cases had reported soulmates that absolutely hated each other. After all hate and love were two sides of the same coin. Not that Jon cared. 

Jon hated the idea of soulmates. He had always hated it. He had hated how his teachers had gone on about the one who completes you, the one who will be everything for you and you everything for them. He had hated how his friends growing up had more and more obsessed about their marks. How many of them had fallen into their soulmates arms just right after meeting them. How they just started to be with a complete stranger.

It just didn’t make sense to Jon. He had always needed time to warm up to people. How was he expected to fall in love with a complete stranger. Also what if you fell in love with someone before you met your soulmate? Or what if whoever had chosen your soulmate had chosen a massive prick? No, Jon just hated the idea of soulmates. 

Platonic soulmates were a bit more reasonable to him. Essentially they were just like best friends. Not that Jon had ever had a best friend. The closest he had come to it was with Georgie in uni. Georgie had always been firmly convinced that her soulmate would be her best friend and therefore would have to be a platonic soulmate.

Why she had been so convinced she had never shared with Jon. But it also didn’t really matter to him. What mattered to him was that Georgie, as a result, was not as obsessed with the whole soulmate crap as everyone else. It also meant that she was one of the few people who enjoyed dating around. And dating her had been nice. Ultimately it just had not worked out. Mainly because Georgie was a social creature and Jon...well. 

Jon didn’t like most people. They were annoying, exhausting and got on his nerves easily. Which is why a job at the Magnus Institute seemed perfect. A research job required lots of reading, lots of writing, and very little human contact. Jon loved it

Despite his active dislike of other people and trying his utmost to avoid them, Jon managed to make two...well friends was not maybe the right word. Acquaintances. Jon had managed to make two acquaintances. Tim and Sasha had been friends for a long time before they met Jon. They were close, but not soulmates. Not in the traditional sense at least. They were drawn to each other in the way that neither of them had a traditional marking. 

Sasha’s wrist was covered in weird, garbled symbols. It didn’t match up to any language, dead or alive. Sasha liked to joke that her soulmate probably was an alien and therefore no one was able to make out a single word. She didn’t mind if anything she was intrigued by it, but at the same time her whole life didn’t revolve around it either.

Tim’s wrist on the other hand was blank. Usually this would have meant that his soulmate had died. Given Tim’s young age it would have been a tragedy. However, that was not the case. Tim had simply been born without a mark. It was not unheard of, not completely unusual, but it was definitely not common. A lot of people were pitied for it, almost more than the ones who’s mark had simply faded. At least the ones with faded marks had experienced true love. The ones without would never be able to. Most of them fell into a deep depression. Others retrieved from the world and became even more of a hermit than Jon already had been.

But not Tim. No, Tim was open, always in a good mood, a joke on the tip of his tongue and a lot of love to give. Like a lot. It was rare that he was not casually seeing someone, going on dates, having institute flings or affairs. There were never bad feelings or any malice or jealousy, just a good time. At least according to Tim himself and the rumours that echoed through the long corridors of the institute. 

The fact that neither of them was obsessed with the whole soulmate deal, was the reason Jon allowed them and allowed _himself_ to become acquainted with each other. He still kept a certain distance, since he discovered that if he was friendlier than his usual grumpy self, they would invite him out to the pub or board game nights and that usually included other people. Other people who also worked at the institute as researchers or library staff and after their night out thought they could just approach Jon and talk to him. 

So naturally there was a certain relief when Elias promoted him to head archivist. The archive was deep, deep in the institute, rarely visited by anyone.During all his years working at the institute Jon had only once briefly run into Gertrude, the previous archivist. The job was quiet, hidden away, and perfect. 

When it came to choosing his research assistants there was not much of a choice to make. Mainly because Sasha and Tim were the only other people he knew by name qualified for the job. If Jon was honest Sasha was actually far more qualified for his job, but he pushed his self doubt away. 

Rosie, at least that’s what Jon thought her name was, showed him around his new domain. A few glances into the archive and Jon considered if maybe telling Elias that Sasha was in fact more qualified wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The archives were a mess. There seemed to be no system, no order, a lot of cases were not even neatly stacked away but scattered around tables, chairs and even the floor. Jon let out a deep sigh, grabbed a random file and retreated to his office. He had to start somewhere. 

Reading and recording the statement didn’t bring him as much joy as reading a book in the library. Yes, the quiet and empty space was much preferable to the cramped library full of people. But a statement simply wasn’t the same as a book. Jon would miss the books. Sometimes he secretly thought that books were his true soulmates. The only thing Jon loved more than books were cats. He wouldn’t mind if a fluffy companion turned out to be his true soulmate. Well a fluffy cat companion, Jon wasn’t a fan of dogs. Mainly because….

“Hey, sorry; you haven’t seen a dog have you?” 

Jon jumped and his heart skipped a beat. His office door had suddenly opened and a guy in a bright yellow wool jumper, with brown gingery hair and a nervous smile had stuck his head through it. Jon had not expected to hear these words. Not now, not here, not from _this_ man. He was so startled that all he could say was, “I’m s– Sorry what?” 

“Um – Uh, a dog, a-a Spaniel I think,” the man stuttered. Jon was utterly confused. 

“In – in general, or?...” Jon asked. 

The man laughed nervously and rubbed with his hand over his neck. 

“N–N, No, in the archives.” 

Jon narrowed his eyes. He slowly was recovering from his early state of shock and was thinking more clearly. 

“Why would there be a dog in the archives?” he asked sharply this time. He decided he didn’t like this babbling mess of a human in front of him.

“Oh, cause, well, I–” the man in front of him blushed. 

“Who are you?” Jon cut him off. He could feel a certain anger rising up in himself. This weird man had said Jon’s words. And for a second Jon had hoped. Had been excited. Which clearly upset him. He didn’t care about all this soulmate nonsense. Still who the hell was this man?

“Uh – M,Ma- Martin,” came the answer. “I – and, cause… I… may have…let the dog in?” 

“What, why?” Jon was too startled by the fact that there was a dog in the archive let in by Martin to really process any other thought. 

Martin explained in barely cohesive sentences how he apparently had wanted to _make friends_ with the dog as he had put and let him accidentally in. But the worst part of this rambling, blushing, clearly nervous mess in front of Jon was that it turned out that Martin was going to work for him. Elias had requested it. Great just great. 

Jon hurried to send Martin out to go find the dog and get it out of his archives. He didn’t want to spend longer in a room with him than absolutely necessary. Martin seemed to have a similar feeling and scrambled out of Jon’s office. 

After this brief encounter Jon was very much convinced that Martin was not his soulmate. First of all, no one this incompetent, insecure, and insane enough to wear a yellow jumper like that could be Jon Sims’ soulmate. Second of all Martin had shown no reaction to Jon’s reply. Clearly if they had been soulmates Jon would have spoken the words engraved on Martin’s wrist and Martin would have said something.

But he hadn’t. They were not soulmates. Case closed. Jon was very unhappy. Not because Martin hadn’t turned out to be his soulmate god no. Jon was very much glad that that wasn’t the case. But having someone like Martin wreak havoc in his archives was… 

“Well that’s not ideal,” Jon sighed. 

*********

Martin Blackwood loved the concept of soulmates. No, love was not the right word. He was obsessed with the idea. The idea of a love so pure, so powerful, so unconditional. It just sounded wonderful. 

As a child he had often asked his mother about soulmates. But being the woman that she was, she either didn’t answer ignoring young Martin and his curiosity or she would just send Martin to his room barking that he shouldn’t ask stupid questions. Despite her negative reactions Martin never lost his marvel for the concept. He read nearly any book he could find on soulmates, gently caressing the dark letters on his skin, wondering when he would find his soulmate. When he would find the one person who would just love him. On some days Martin clung to the idea of them like to a liferaft, when his mother found _just_ the right words again and the loneliness threatened to run Martin over like a surge of waves and drowning him. 

It wasn’t that Martin was unlikable. Quite the opposite. He was friendly, gentle, caring, but unfortunately also very awkward. Kids his age didn’t hate him, but his awkwardness got in the way of Martin truly making friends. Martin told himself that it didn’t matter, he would make great friends at uni, he would find his soulmate, he would stop being alone. But things never turned out the way Martin had hoped. Dropping out of school, not going to uni, taking odd jobs, lying on his CV. It had not been a pleasant time.

But through all of this Martin thought about his soulmate. One day he would meet them. If it wasn’t for a simple problem. Martin’s words were...very common. Completely ordinary _just like you_ , Martin’s mother used to say. Martin tried to ignore her as much as possible, but she was kind of right. _I’m sorry, what?_ was not a highly unusual thing to say. People said it all the time.

Martin liked to imagine that once he actually was standing opposite his soulmate, his soulmate would be so overcome with joy and shock that they would simply ask _I’m sorry, what?_ to assure themselves that Martin had just uttered the words marking their wrist. But so far, he had had no such luck. It didn’t help that Martin often stuttered through his sentences, sometimes even mumbled. He very often heard the words _I’m sorry, what?_ and at first his heart would skip a beat and he would repeat his exact sentence. After a while he just tried to move on. It was not that Martin had given up hope, he was just convinced that he would know when he was standing in front of his soulmate. Obviously that was something one just _had_ to notice. 

So naturally when Martin accidentally let a dog into the archives and ran into a cute guy in his office and asked him if he had seen a dog, Martin didn’t assume anything when the first words the guy said were “I’m sorry, what?”. 

Sure the guy was very cute with his dark green jumper, thin glasses, and grey patches in his black hair. But the way he acted he clearly was not Martin’s soulmate. He, however as it turned out, was Martin’s new boss. A scary new boss. A scary cute new boss. Who was going to fire Martin if Martin didn’t fix the dog situation this second. 

There was no sign of the dog in the completely empty archive. The dark emptiness of the room made Martin slightly uneasy. He already missed the bright library, with its big windows, and busy people burying their faces in books.

“Can I help you?” someone asked behind Martin and Martin jumped. Behind him was standing a woman about his age holding a box of files. 

“Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said quickly and then added with a genuine smile, “I’m Sasha.” 

“Hi, I–, I...I’m Martin,” Martin stuttered, awkwardly waving at her. Sasha continued to smile.

“Hi Martin. Wait, you work in the library, right?” she asked, putting down her box of files on the nearest chair. 

“Used to,” Martin said, “guess I now work here. Unless I don’t find the dog.”

“The dog?” Sasha asked, confused. Unlike Jon she didn’t burst out in anger after Martin told her about his accident with the dog. Instead she just laughed. 

“Oh, dear. I’ll better help you looking then, can’t have my teammate being fired on his first day,” she said and Martin decided he liked her. She radiated warmth and she was simply just kind. 

Together they looked through the whole archive, but other than boxes filled to the brim with dust and a chaos of statements they didn’t find anything. No sign of the dog. Martin was almost relieved. Maybe the dog had found his own way out. But just as he had started to hope he heard how the entrance door opened and someone stepped in. 

“So where exactly is this dog,” he heard Jon grunt and Martin’s heart dropped.

“I’ve locked him in the small storage room next to shelves B3.I and B3.IV,” another voice said, that Martin had heard before but couldn’t quite place.

“Oi, Tim,” Sasha yelled suddenly and Martin jumped again. So the familiar voice belonged to Tim. Martin remembered Tim. Researcher, often found in the library. Very pretty and knew it. Owned an abundance of hawaiian shirts with a deep v-neck . Had flirted with Martin heavily during last year's Christmas party. The memory made Martin blush. Nothing had happened of course. Martin had been far too awkward, as usual, to flirt back. 

Seconds later Tim’s head poked around the bookshelf which Martin and Sasha stood next to. Behind him Martin could barely make out Jon’s face as he remained in the dimn light of the corridor. Martin didn’t need to be able to see his face sharply to know that Jon looked very displeased. 

“Hi, Sash,” Tim said with a big grin, then he spotted Martin. “Martin, what are you doing outside the library? Got lost?” he asked jokingly and Martin blushed even more. 

“I-..I-... I work here,” Martin said, before nervously glancing at Jon and adding, “maybe?” 

“Well someone needs to clean up the mess the dog has created in the storage room,” Jon let out an exasperated sigh.

“Is it cute?” Sasha asked, trying to hide the excitement in her voice. 

“Not as cute as me, but pretty damn close,” Tim said and waved to them to follow him. Jon was already a few steps ahead of them. 

“It does not matter if it is cute, it is in my archive, where it does not belong,” with the last words he had stopped in front of the door and glared at Martin. Martin wanted to disappear into the ground. All he had wanted was to pet a cute dog and instead he had made a massive fool out himself on his first day of work in the archives in front of his new (cute and scary) boss. 

“Right,” Tim said, “the plan is this: Boss if you wouldn’t mind opening the door, I will dash in. Martin, Sash, you will block the entrance so the dog can’t escape. Once I am in, I will grab the dog, hold him tight and then carry him out of the archive.” 

Sasha and Martin nodded in agreement, Jon rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything to disagree with Tim’s plan. Jon put his hand on the door handle, Sasha and Martin positioned themselves in front of the door, leaving enough space for Tim. Tim gave Jon a short nod and then before Martin could even properly blink the door was open, Tim was in and grabbed the dog. It turned, in fact, out to be a Spaniel. And it was still very cute and fluffy. Sasha and Martin couldn’t stop petting it. Tim also looked very happy holding it. 

“Awww what a cutie,” Sasha cued. 

“Thanks, you’re not bad yourself Sash,” Tim joked and Sasha slapped him on the shoulder. Before Martin could say anything to the dog, Jon cleared his throat behind them. Martin had almost forgotten that Jon had been standing there. Sasha and Tim seemed unbothered, but then they also had not let the dog in in the first place. 

“Get the dog out, would you Tim,” said Jon annoyed. 

“You got it Boss,” Tim carried the dog out of the archive much to Sasha’s and Martin’s dismay. Sadly, Martin watched Tim leave. Then he could feel a burning glare on himself and remembered Jon. 

“I’ll get cleaning,” he hurried to say and went inside the storage room. Jon left without so much as looking at Martin. But Martin could feel that his new boss was still mad. He kneeled down to pick up the files the dog had ripped apart. Two hands joined him. Martin looked up and saw Sasha kneeling right next to him. 

“Don’t take it personally,” she said and gave Martin a little nudge with her arm, “Jon is just an old grump.” 

“Sure he doesn’t hate me?” asked Martin and started putting the completely ruined bits of paper into the nearest bin. 

“Yeah, Jon can’t feel emotions as intense as hate. He’d combust on the spot,” Sasha joked and actually managed to make Martin laugh.

So what if his new boss hated him, who cares, Martin thought. At least his new coworkers were nice. But deep, deep down, Martin knew that he did care if Jon hated him. Deep, deep down inside, Martin wanted nothing more than to gain Jon’s approval. More so he wanted Jon to like him. Why, Martin couldn’t quite tell. He was used to people disliking him, and sure it wasn’t nice, but he had been able to live with it. Yet, the idea of Jon not liking him twisted Martin’s stomach. He had no clue why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episodes cited: 
> 
> * 176.01 - The Magnus Archives Liveshow 
> 
> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave comments/kudos if you enjoyed this so far, best way to feed your local fic writer. Also I've also made a jonmartin [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0mnUjQyzYHSKf9VDi6mUaz?si=qQcXXievT8WFM3IQjBMBig) that I explicitly listened to while writing this, if you wanna feel more emotional while reading.


	2. Didn't see you for ages, didn't pick up your phone

Martin tried to make up for the dog incident. He really did. He threw himself into work, he always tried to smile at Jon, he even learned how his new (scary and cute) boss liked his tea. But every time Martin brought Jon any tea, Jon just seemed to be even more displeased. 

Sasha and Tim on the other hand really appreciated Martin bringing them tea. In return they would always ask him if he wanted to come along to lunch with them. Martin gladly accepted their offer. Despite always having been friendly and approachable when working in the library, Martin had never really managed to make friends in the institute either. He had only become more shy, afraid that if he would spend too much time around proper academics, his cover would blow. However, after some especially cold glares from Jon, Martin had felt a lot more lonely than usual and had put caution in the wind and gone for lunch with the other two. 

Jon never joined them. Tim joked that maybe Jon was a vampire. 

“Okay, hear me out,” he said one day over lunch. “The guy always has dark circles under his eyes, never seems to sleep or eat for that matter. When we surprised him on his birthday he refused to tell us his real age! And has anyone of you ever seen him outside the institute?” 

Both Martin and Sasha shook their heads. It was true. Jon seemed to basically live in the archives at this point. 

“See,” Tim said triumphantly. “Either he would crumble to dust or start glittering if he got into the sun. Plus he does have that certain vampire sex appeal,” he added with a wink. Martin choked on his water and Sasha started laughing so hard that tears appeared in her eyes.

“Gross,” she managed to say between laughs, “you really fancy anything that breathes.”

Martin had just been able to recover and wanted to take a bite out of his sandwich when Tim elbowed him. 

“Oh come on, you at least agree with me about how handsome our Boss is, don’t you Martin?” 

Martin could feel himself blush. Yes, of course, if Martin was honest Jon was not just cute, he was extremely hot, with his dark skin, his messy hair, and his eyes – god, his eyes were something to get lost in – if they weren’t always glaring at Martin. But Martin would rather bite off his tongue than admit all of that. And it was not like he had a crush. No, no matter how low Martin’s self-esteem was and how attractive Jon was, Jon was, after all, still a dick. In addition, Jon was pretentious, extremely hard on statement givers, and really could hold a grudge given that it had been weeks since the dog incident. No, Jon was attractive but that was all he was. But Martin was sure as hell not gonna say it. 

Thank God, Sasha came to his rescue. 

“I’d like to repeat: a) gross,” she said, “and b) he is our boss!” 

“I just said he was hot, not that I was going to sleep with him Sasha,” Tim pretended to be offended. 

“If you fancy someone it is heavily implied that you will want to sleep with them,” Sasha teased, and Tim slapped her gently on the arm. Martin just continued to be flustered and intensely stared at his plate. 

Luckily, the rest of the lunch conversation did not revolve around Jon. However, a few weeks later Jon did actually end up reading a statement about vampires.

“So vampires don’t speak, they just communicate telepathically?” Martin asked Jon after he had brought him another mug of tea at the end of his latest recording. 

“Well if they existed, yes” Jon sighed exasperated. “Which obviously they don’t, it’s just the concoction of an old, insane tramp on his last breath.” Martin hummed, not daring to disagree with Jon and picked up Jon’s old mug. It was completely empty, and a certain feeling of satisfaction spread in Martin’s chest. Apparently Jon had liked his tea. At least enough to finish drinking it all. 

“While we are at it, can you look up what happened to Mr. Trevor Herbert?” Jon asked. The name actually rang a bell. Martin felt like Rosie had mentioned something about the vampire hunter.

“I think he died,” Martin tried to remember. Yes, that sounded about right. Mr. Herbert was dead. And Martin suddenly was very certain because…

“He died in the institute,” he continued. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, apparently the archive staff had urged him to go to the hospital but he had refused. And then he took a nap and well…” Martin made a vague gesture. “Never woke up again.”

“Ah that is unfortunate,” Jon said. And after a short moment he added, “But only more proof that vampires are very much not real. I would not put too much weight on the words of a dying man.”

“Shame, Tim will be very disappointed,” Martin winced, he had spoken without thinking. 

“Disappointed about what?” 

“The fact that ‘real’ vampires are not like the ones in _Twilight_ ,” Martin lied quickly. “Tim loves _Twilight._ ” 

Jon gave him a surprised look, but didn’t seem to question Martin’s lie any further. 

“Sounds like something Tim would enjoy, I guess,” he mumbled. “But disappointment is a given, especially since vampires are clearly not real.”

And you clearly are not one of them, Martin thought. Tim was really going to be dissapointed.

Not as disappointed though as Jon always seemed to be every time Martin handed in research. No matter what Martin did, it was never good enough. Of course not, thought Martin bitterly, I don’t even have a degree. How can I even begin to compare to Tim and Sasha. It didn’t help that Martin regularly listen to Jon’s recordings to file them away and more than once Jon had called him an idiot or incompetent. Martin almost burst into tears after listening to the statement of Paul Noriega. Not only had Jon called him a useless ass, he had also sent Martin on a potentially dangerous mission _on purpose_. 

Out of reflex Martin started to gently rub over his mark. If it hadn’t been clear from their first meeting, the last weeks had definitely shown Martin that he and Jon were not soulmates. Martin was sure that his soulmate could never be as much of a dick as Jon was. He didn’t understand how Jon could hate him that much. All just because of a dog? Martin shook his head. Jon was and would probably always be a mystery. And an asshole.

Still Martin couldn’t quite shake the need to impress Jon. So when Jon asked Martin to investigate the flat of a certain Carlos Vittery, Martin went without complaining. 

*********

Jon was in a good mood. Which was to say he was less grumpy and irritated than usual, which normal people would have at best considered a neutral mood maybe. But for Jon this was definitely good. 

Tim seemed to pick up on it too. As he was handing in his latest research on the Christof Rudenko case he asked, “You seem awfully cheery, boss. Got a breakthrough on a statement?” 

Jon just huffed. As if they were actually able to ever make any breakthroughs on any statements. Most of them were drug or stress induced hallucinations or made by people desperate for attention. Almost all of them so far had also led to dead ends. 

No, Jon was in a good mood because Martin was sick. Okay, that sounded wrong. As much as Jon disliked Martin he did not feel joy because Martin was suffering. He just simply enjoyed that Martin was not in the archives and would not be for a few days. He was free of Martin’s suffocating presence. 

It was not that Jon hated Martin. He was simply irritated by the other man. Mainly because Martin had spoken _his words_ . And now every time Martin ran past Jon, a voice in Jon’s head would ask _is this my soulmate?_ Which clearly was ridiculous. For one, Jon had not spoken Martin’s words or Martin would have reacted in some sort of way. Secondly, Martin was...well he was just Martin. Jon was convinced he could do better than a stuttering fool. Either way Martin made Jon think about soulmates and Jon hated thinking about soulmates. And since he had enjoyed a proper British education, he did not deal with his anger in a healthy way, but let it out on Martin. So no, Jon didn’t hate Martin. He just very much disliked Martin and what Martin unknowingly stood for. As a result he was happy that Martin was out of the archives. 

But with Martin gone things did not prove as easy as Jon had hoped.

He had expected the research to get along a lot smoother than usual, without Martin being the hindrance he was. Tim had done impressive work on the Father Burroughs case, and Sasha was doing excellent as usual, nevertheless, they all seemed to get a lot less done than they normally would. In addition, Jon learned that it had been Martin, who had been filing the audio recordings away. Unfortunately this also meant that Martin had been listening to all the recordings. And all the supplements. Including all of Jon’s snarky comments. Jon tried to ignore this new information and refused to feel bad. But it was hard now that there was just a sad stack of unorganized tapes sitting on an empty desk, staring back at Jon. 

Another thing that surprised Jon was the tea. He missed having tea. Which was ridiculous. He could just get up and make himself a cup of tea, he was a functioning adult. At least in theory. In reality Jon was standing grumpily in the break room holding a cup of tea filled with sour milk, bitter tea and simultaneously too much sugar. 

“I don’t understand,” he grumbled to himself. “I made it like I usually do.” Sasha shot him an amused glance.

“Doesn’t taste as nice does it?” she said with a grin and moved next to Jon to fix herself a cup of tea. Jon just nodded, brows furrowed. 

“My theory is, that Martin has a special ingredient, possibly addictive, that he secretly always puts in our tea,” she joked. Jon just shrugged. He was not in the mood to talk about Martin. Not that he ever was in the mood. If anything this was Martin’s fault. If he had been doing his work and not slacked off to constantly make them all tea, Jon would now be fine. God, why did Martin always have to be so–…

“Have you heard from him by the way?” Sasha interrupted Jon’s thought process and took a sip from her cup. 

“No, I have not,” _thank god_ he added in thought. Sasha suddenly seemed nervous. Her smile had faded and her eyes narrowed. 

“Oh,” she said. “It’s just...he hasn’t replied to any of mine or Tim’s texts and we are a bit worried.” 

Jon had not noticed. He had simply enjoyed Martin’s absence and his lack of communication. 

“Frankly, I would not worry too much,” he tried to calm Sasha. “A stomach flu usually leaves one not in the mood for conversation.” 

Sasha nodded but didn’t seem convinced. Jon gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and returned to his office. Without realizing what he was doing Jon grabbed his phone and checked his messages. Nothing. 

Something weird tucked in his stomach. Alright, maybe it was slightly unusual. Martin tended to text as much as he babbled when he got nervous, which was a lot. 

The tugging in Jon’s stomach grew stronger. Jon groaned, before surrendering to whatever the feeling inside him was and typed out a short and efficient text: 

_Do you know when you will be back at work?_

Martin didn’t reply. Which was odd, but no reason to worry. At least at first. When Martin still had not replied 24 hours later Jon sent another text. And another. Just to make sure, the cell service in London could be hell. Another 24 hours passed and nothing. The tugging in Jon’s stomach had grown so much, he decided to call Martin. Of course, Martin didn’t pick up. He also didn’t pick up the second time. Or the third. Jon didn’t want to admit it, but he was slightly agitated. As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn’t help but worry about Martin.

The weird thing was that Jon knew if it had been Sasha or Tim off sick with no life signs he would not have worried. So why did he now worry about Martin of all bloody people? Maybe because Martin was so incompetant that Jon would actually be not surprised if Martin accidentally died of a stomach flu. 

Jon almost dropped his tape recorder when his phone finally buzzed. Of course Martin had to text back in the middle of a statement. Even when not in the archives he had managed to interrupt Jon’s work. Jon barely managed to finish his recording before giving in and reaching for his phone. The text from Martin simply read: 

_I’m still sick. I think it might be a parasite._

Relief washed over Jon. Martin was not dead. The relief was quickly followed by Jon’s usual annoyance.

He started typing: _Tim will have to cover your work._

No, that was way too harsh. Delete. _I’m so sorry, I hope you will feel a lot better soon._ No, that on the other hand was way too personal for Jon. In the end he settled for a _Thanks for letting me know. Get better._ Sent. 

Once again Martin didn’t reply and Jon tried not to be bothered by it. He told himself that he was mostly bothered by the fact that he did actually have to give Sasha and Tim Martin’s work load. They wouldn’t be happy. 

They were however happy to find out that Martin had not died. Sasha was slightly grumpy over the fact that Martin had made the effort to reply to Jon and not her or Tim. As Jon left the breakroom after informing them about Martin he heard Sasha say, “Jon just is a massive dick to him, but we are his actual friends, couldn’t have sent a quick text to us?” 

Jon felt another tugg in his stomach. Apparently his irritation regarding Martin had not gone unnoticed by the rest of his staff. Maybe he should try to be more civil towards Martin once he was back. 

But Martin didn’t come back. More days passed, and no follow up text or any notice of when he would be back to work. It must have been a really awful stomach bug. Jon wondered if it was something that was going around because with every new day without Martin his own stomach seemed to be more and more upset. 

Trying to distract himself from the weird feeling that Martin’s absence caused, Jon threw himself into work. His last statement and the recurrence of the house on Hill Top Road made Jon particularly uneasy. As much as he disliked cases that were clearly deadends and had a touch of the ridiculous he was glad that his current statement, one by a Moira Kelly, seemed to have no connection to any other previous case files and was easy to dismiss. The sky simply didn’t eat people. Though the name _Simon Fairchild_ seemed to ring a bell. But before Jon could dwell on it, the door to his office burst open. 

“My god, Martin?” asked Jon, surprised to see him. Martin didn’t reply. Instead he just dumped a jar filled with _worms_ on Jon’s table. 

“What… What the hell is - ? What are these things?!” Jon looked at the jar in disgust. Martin still didn’t say anything. He just fell back into a chair with an exhausted sigh. Jon glanced back and for between the glass and Martin. Martin looked horrible. He was paler than usual, the rose coloured tint on his cheeks had gone. Now dark circles had appeared under his eyes, his lips were chapped, his hair frizzy. Instead of his usual nervous and bubbly energy, Martin now radiated fear. Jon could almost smell it. Martin was not just exhausted, he was clearly afraid. What the hell had happened to him, Jon wondered. 

“Worms,” came finally a reply from Martin and Jon had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, I can see that,” he said. “But what are they doing on my desk?” He couldn’t help but glare at Martin. Force of habit. But Martin didn’t even seem to notice. He was a mess, trying to calm his breath just staring at the jar on Jon’s desk in horror. 

“Martin, are you okay?” What a stupid question. One didn’t need a degree from Oxford to see that Martin was clearly not okay, that he was the pure opposite of okay. 

Martin shook his head. He took a couple more deep breaths before he finally said, “I think you wanna get a new tape for your recorder.” 

Jon obliged without any questions and then Martin gave his statement. During his statements, Jon’s stomach started to twist just as much as the worms in the jar. While he disliked Martin, he didn’t wish Martin’s encounter with Prentiss on anyone. Yes, Martin was an annoyance, but he was still part of Jon’s team. And Jon didn’t want anything bad to happen to his team. So naturally, he offered Martin to stay in the archive, which made Martin blush. If Jon had liked Martin, he would have been glad to see some colour return to Martin’s face. But he didn’t. 

“Okay… thanks. To be honest I didn’t, didn’t expect you… to take it seriously,” stuttered Martin. Normally Jon would have not. As the institute's sceptic he had a reputation to lose. Under different circumstances he would have told Martin to suck it, not to be such a cry baby and muttered something about being useless. But these weren't normal circumstances. This was very much real. Jon told Martin about the phone and all the colour drained out of Martin’s face once again. The creepy follow up text from Prentiss didn’t help. 

_Keep him. We have had our fun. He will want to see it when the Archivist’s crimson fate arrives._

Martin had gradually managed to calm himself down after being told he could stay in the archives, started to panic again. 

“What does that mean?” he asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice. Jon tried to calm him, despite slowly starting to feel afraid too. 

“It means I ask Elias to hire some extra security. I should probably warn Sasha and Tim as well,” he said, voice steady, hiding his shaky hands under the table. Fear was just another feeling, he told himself. And feelings could be repressed. Martin didn’t seem calmed in the slightest. 

“Come, I’ll show you the storage room,” Jon tried to change the topic at least slightly and stood up. “You look like you could use some rest.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos/comments on the last chapter <3 
> 
> Chapter title is lyrics from[Partners in Crime](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34rDChPGvqc) by Finneas
> 
> Episodes referenced:  
> * 010 - Vampire Killer  
> * 021 - Freefall  
> * 022 - Colony


	3. You're a dick but I love you

The storage room was small, windowless and bleak. It had more similarity with a prison cell than a storage room. Still better than his worm infested flat, Martin thought, even though it was just as empty. 

However, the fact that Jon had, several times at least, stayed late after work and slept in this room made Martin worry. That man really needed a better work life balance. No wonder he was so cold and grumpy all the time. Well apart from now, when he was being weirdly nice to Martin. At least  _ nice _ for Jon Sims’ standards. 

“It’s not much,” Jon gestured to the ragged cot and naked grey walls. “But at least you are safe here.” 

Martin nodded and tried to give Jon a smile. God, he was tired. 

“Thanks, Jon. I really mean it...I m– mean you didn’t have to, don’t have to….I…”

“Get some rest, Martin,” Jon stopped him babbling. Martin nodded again, afraid all the words would spill out of him if he tried to say anything. Jon turned around to leave, but then did something very uncharacteristic. He lifted his arm and gave Martin a quick pat on the shoulder. And before Martin could react in any shape of form Jon was gone, leaving Martin standing alone in the door to the storage room. 

It hadn’t even been a very good pat, but it had been an act of comforting. Jon – I only know how to glare, snap, and shout – Sims had attempted to comfort Martin. 

Of course Jon’s awkward pat was nothing compared to the bone crushing hug in which both Sasha and Tim wrapped him. Even though Tim’s elbow was uncomfortably pressed into Martin’s stomach and Sasha’s hair was tickling in his nose, Martin didn’t say anything. He just took in their warmth, their presence, their softness. He had been touch starved, and Jon’s pat had been nothing but a bread crumb. 

“God, I am so sorry we didn’t notice, Martin,” Sasha apologized, her hands still clasping him tight. 

“It’s….it’s oka–,”

“No, it’s not okay,” Tim interrupted him. “We really should have properly checked up on you. Really glad you didn’t become worm food.”

“Me too,” Martin whispered. He was glad to have friends like Tim and Sasha. They were his actual real friends in a long time. And like actual real friends they helped him get some stuff out of his flat. Martin was sure he’d never set foot in this place alone. Not as long as Prentiss and her worms were alive at least. And even if they’d be able to stop Prentiss eventually Martin’s flat had lost the tiny feeling of home it had still held. 

Living in the archives was not bad per se, but it was weird. For once, Martin was sure he would very quickly get a vitamin d deficiency, since he never left the archives. Secondly, it could not be a healthy work life balance to sleep at your place of work. Thirdly, while Martin was thankful for Jon’s cot, he was sure his back would kill him soon if he continued sleeping on it. 

It was back pain that awoke Martin far too early one morning. With 29 years one shouldn’t have such back pain, Martin thought and begrudgingly got up. A glance at his watch told him it was quarter past six. Far too early. Still half asleep he padded out of the storage room to get some water and was greeted with a, “Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!”

While a week ago Martin had desperately clung to his life, trying nothing but to survive, he now wanted to die. Apparently Jon had a much worse work life balance than Martin had originally suspected. And as a direct result Jon was in the archives at 6am, staring at Martin who was wearing nothing but an old shirt and a black pair of boxer briefs.

“Oh god, sorry, sorry! I didn’t think you were in until later; it’s not even seven yet,” Martin said equally as horrified as Jon. 

“I’ve been coming in early in the hopes of leaving this place before dark,” both his and Jon’s voice were higher than usual. Christ, this was bad.

If Martin had not been in such a state of horror he maybe would have noticed the slight blush that had crept on Jon’s cheeks. 

Instead Martin awkwardly returned to the storage room and put on some jeans before sneaking into the kitchen to make some tea. He didn’t enjoy being up before 7am, but even less he enjoyed the fact that Jon had seen him in his underwear. Sasha and Tim could never know, the teasing would be relentless. As for Jon, well the possibility that he would ever see Martin in a professional light was clearly gone out of the window. Martin sighed and banged his head against the kitchen cupboard. 

“What are you doing?” Martin jumped, he hadn’t noticed that Jon had appeared behind him. Great, he had just made a fool out of himself in front of Jon for the second time within 10 minutes. What a wonderful start for the day. 

“Trying to wake up?” he tried to joke and felt pathetic. Jon just raised an eyebrow. He made a few steps towards Martin, his fingers twitching, running over the fabric of his grey sweater west, like he didn’t know exactly what to do with them. 

“I hope I,” Jon’s teeth were pressed together and he really struggled to finish his sentence. “I hope I didn't wake you. Earlier.” 

“What? Oh n–no, no...you didn’t– I was– I did–, I was awake already. I mean I don’t usually–… but ever since Prentiss, I–…”

“Martin!” Jon tried to stop him from babbling.

“Sorry. Tea?” Martin tentatively held up the mug he had already been making for Jon. Martin mentaly prepared himself for an eye roll, a dismissive sigh, or an annoyed glare. Instead Jon just took the mug out of his hand 

“Thank you,” he said stiffly before he turned around and left. It was the first time he had said  _ thank you _ after Martin had offered him tea and Martin watched him leave with some sort of marvel. It had not been necessarily heartfelt or sincere, but it had been a thank you; some expression of gratitude and appreciation, an acknowledgement, Jon had seen him and  _ oh no _ , Martin’s heart did a funny thing. Not again, he thought. Not on  _ him.  _

Martin had really tried not to get a crush on Jon, which hadn’t been hard given that Jon had been a massive dick. But now he was suddenly _ nice _ to Martin, which was to say just slightly less of a dick than usual, and Martin couldn’t help it. He had a crush on his boss.

Which was nothing to worry about, Martin developed crushes very quickly and constantly. A direct result of being a rather lonely person and craving love like air. The fact that people also very easily said the words  _ I’m sorry what?  _ to him didn’t help either. Martin knew his attachment style was maybe not the healthiest and that he should work on it but he just couldn’t help it. There just was something about Jon that Martin couldn’t quite place. Of course with his slightly disheveled, nerdy look and inability to take care of himself by sleeping or eating he was exactly Martin’s type. Because Martin liked to take care of people. Years of taking care of his mum had led to Martin expressing his feelings primarily through acts of service, worrying, and being useful. 

It was the real reason he made tea for everyone all the time. And it clearly had worked on Tim and Sasha, after all Martin had become friends with them. It was enough encouragement for Martin to continue to bring Jon tea. Maybe if Martin brought him enough tea Jon would eventually be even less of a dick. One could at least hope, Martin thought while carrying a plate of biscuits into Jon’s office. It wasn’t the most nutritional breakfast, but given how early Jon had shown up to the archives and given the fact that he was Jon, Martin doubted that Jon had eaten already. 

He put down the biscuits in front of Jon, who didn’t look up but at least acknowledged Martin’s existence with a little huff. Martin should have left, he had god knows enough work of his own to get back to, but he found himself unable to leave. Unable to do anything but to look at Jon. At his beautiful, stern face, brows furrowed, lips pressed tightly together, trying to concentrate, eyes gliding over the newest statement and oh god yeah, he had caught Martin staring. Jon raised one eyebrow, a glint of annoyance in his eyes. 

“Is there anything else, Martin?” he asked, voice strained slightly. Martin blushed. 

“Nope,” he squeaked and turned on his heels leaving Jon’s office. Martin could only hope this crush would go away. 

Of course it didn’t. If anything it got worse. Which also could be said for Prentiss and her worms. First Sasha got attacked, then slowly more and more worms started to show up around and eventually in the institute. Jon ordered more fire extinguishers and Martin got more and more scared to leave the archives. 

As much as he disliked the fact that he had a crush on Jon, it was at least a distraction from the fear and panic the worms caused to rise in his lungs. 

So much of a distraction that Martin didn’t even notice the next time the worms attacked. He was just absentmindedly tracing the rim of his mug of tea that had grown cold thinking about what Jon might look like if he smiled. It took a very loud screech from Sasha to bring Martin back to reality.

“Martin,” her voice filled with panic, “a little help here!” Martin looked up and to his horror saw that Sasha was angrily stamping on a horde...a nest...an accumulation of worms while Tim was spraying them with a fire extinguisher, but it was obvious that he was about to run out of CO2. Martin jolted from his chair and rushed to get another extinguisher. They barely managed to get rid of the worms. Martin needed to pay more attention. 

The fact that Martin had been distracted lately hadn’t passed Sasha and Tim either, and so a few days later Tim cornered Martin in the storage room demanding to know who Martin was crushing on. 

All Martin had wanted was to let some of his feelings out by recording a poem to make sure he didn’t blurt them out in front of Jon. Instead he had a smirking Tim standing over him, going through various of their coworkers’ names trying to guess Martin’s crush. 

“I mean, Hannah is with her soulmate,” Tim was thinking out loud. “That doesn’t  _ necessarily _ mean that it’s  _ not _ her.” Martin once again wanted to die. 

“Oh what about Melanie King when she came to talk to Jon a few weeks ago. You and Sasha both are quite fan’s of  _ Ghost Hunt UK  _ aren’t you?” Tim teased. And while Martin did enjoy  _ Ghost Hunt UK  _ it was more Sasha who had almost been flustered speechless when Melanie had shown up. 

“No, no!  _ No, _ ” he tried to stop Tim. At least Tim had not had the idea that it was–

“Or wait. Are you being so dodgy about this because it’s  _ one of us _ ?” Fuck! Martin winced and he knew his facial expression had betrayed him as a shit eating grin formed on Tim’s face.

Delighted Tim kept teasing Martin about possibly liking either him or Sasha. By the time Martin managed to make Tim leave the storage room, he was a flustered mess. At least Tim had no idea that Martin liked– there was another knock on the door and Martin lost it. 

“Oh what?  _ What? WHAT?” _ he yelled. Frankly he had had enough of the teasing. He just wanted to get back to his poetry. 

To Martin’s horror it wasn’t Tim who opened the door to taunt him more. Instead a confused Jon stepped into the storage room and closed the door behind him. 

“What are you so irritable about?” he asked, voice grumpy as always. Martin’s heart jumped. He was suddenly very aware of how small the storage room was and how little space there was between him and Jon. 

“Just been having a bit of a time,” Martin said. It wasn’t even much of a lie. He definitely was having a _ bit of a time _ . A bit much. Jon just nodded. 

“Mm, haven’t we all?” he took a deep breath before continuing. “What did Tim want; he was  _ grinning.”  _ Martin was going to murder Tim. 

“T-Tim? Oh, um – we were – comparing notes on the Hither-Green case,” Martin’s voice was shaking, but Jon didn’t seem to notice. 

“Oh. I see. Did you get anywhere?”

“Maybe? Too soon to tell.” Luckily, Jon seemed to believe him. He just nodded a long and stared at a spot on the wall behind Martin. Martin was starting to wonder why Jon had come in in the first place. 

“Alright, well, keep me updated. Uh, I also wanted you to try and track down a Mr Marcus McKenzie. His father gave a statement in 2003;” Jon answered his unspoken question. “I’m trying to follow up. Bit worried about this one.”

It was Martin’s time to raise his eyebrows in surprise. 

“What, you? The father of all skepticism, worried?” Martin couldn’t help but laugh. Apparently he had hit a bit of a sore spot. Jon looked to the floor, embarrassed. 

“Just because I don’t think it happened doesn’t mean I can’t be worried,” he mumbled. Then he suddenly looked up and directly at Martin. Martin could feel his breath catch in the back of his throat. 

“Are  _ you _ alright?” Jon asked and Martin was so taken by surprise that all he managed to say was,

“What?”

“Down here, I mean,” Jon was running his hands over his jeans like every time he struggled to find the right words. “Uh – After everything, but out of house and home; it’s not exactly five-star accommodations.” Was...did...did Jon worry about him? No, surely not. Jon was not the worry type. Especially not when it came to Martin. 

“Oh, heh. You don’t need to worry about me,” Martin replied, out of reflex trying to make himself small, trying to make himself sound unimportant. And he was, wasn’t he? He was safe in the archives afraid to face worms. There really was no need to worry.

“I believe I’ve made my case for being entitled to worry, Martin,” Jon’s tone was sharp, but not angry. And there definitely was worry in his eyes. Martin felt how his pulse started to speed. Jon worried about him. Jon, who was in the storage room with Martin. Alone. Standing far closer than he normally would. Martin needed to remind himself to breathe

“Of course. Well. Really; I’m, I’m fine.” he lied. He already felt pathetic enough most of the time, crying his heart out to Jon didn’t seem like a wise move. Especially given how Jon usually reacted to strong emotions. He had just started to be a bit nicer to Martin, and Martin wasn’t going to risk that. 

“Alright. Well, in that case,” Jon cleared his throat and finally had stopped staring so intensely at Martin. “Get back to work. Just because you’re living here doesn’t mean it’s not still a place of business.”

This man would be the end of him. 

As it turned out it was actually Tim and Sasha that would be Martin’s end. Since Tim hadn’t had any luck getting Martin to confirm who his work crush was, he had paired up with Sasha and they both interrogated Martin over lunch.

“So it’s not Tim, and obviously it’s not me,” Sasha said. 

“What do you mean  _ obviously _ it’s not you?” Tim asked. “You’re amazing!” 

Martin felt his cheeks heat up and he looked at his cup of tea before whispering, “I’m gay.” 

“Aren’t we all,” Tim joked because yes, technically speaking none of the archive staff were straight. Martin didn’t know why he was so nervous about this. 

“No, like the 100% kind of gay,” he said and finally looked up from his tea. 

“Oh, and you had me guess so many of our female coworkers.” Tim pretended to be upset. 

“You’re so oblivious Tim,” Sasha giggled. “Shame for me though,” she added with a wink and Martin turned a shade of red he didn’t even know a human could turn. Why did both of them have to be so flirty constantly? 

“So is it just a work crush or is it soulmate related?” Sasha asked. Normally Martin would have been glad that she had changed the topic slightly, but this was definitely worse.

“I don’t think so, I mean if he was, I would know, wouldn’t I?” And Jon...he would know too. The idea was horrifying. Did Jon even have a soulmate mark, Martin wondered. As far as he was aware Jon always covered up his mark, either with the sleeves of his button downs or occasionally with a leather bracelet. If Jon had a soulmate mark he guarded it with so much effort as if the words on his wrist spelled out a confession of murder. 

“You’re really asking the wrong people about how soulmates work,” Tim mused. 

“Sasha and I just sleep with people and each other.” Martin raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sasha laughed and smacked Tim semi-gently on the shoulder, but Martin could swear she was blushing slightly. 

“I mean Tim is  _ partially  _ right,” she said. “We don’t really know the in and outs of soulmates. But you are allowed to have a crush on someone who isn’t your soulmate. There are plenty of people out there in happy relationships without being soulmates.” 

Martin snorted. Not because he didn’t believe Sasha, no, definitely not. He knew that there were happy non soulmate couples out there. But the idea that one day he and Jon could possibly be in a relationship, well. Martin might have been a hopeless romantic, but he wasn’t delusional. As if he had been able to sense Martin thinkin about him, Jon chose that exact moment to enter the break room.

“I can hear you laughing from the other end of the archive,” he said and Martin felt the blood drain out of his face. “What’s going on?”

“Oh we were just talking about Martin’s–” 

“TEA!” Martin yelled in a panic, cutting Tim off. “We were talking about my tea. Apparently Sasha thinks I should improve my tea making skills.” It was a stupid lie, but Martin was proud of himself for having come up with it so quickly. God, he had had to lie so much lately. It was exhausting.

Jon raised an eyebrow in confusion, but seemed to believe Martin’s lie. Tim and Sasha were both quiet and apparently in shock. 

“I think you’re tea is alright,” Jon mumbled and Martin turned so red for a second he was afraid he was going to be Jon’s  _ crimson fate _ . 

“You should get back to work soon,” Jon added and then turned around and left. As soon as he was gone Martin led out the breath he was holding. Sasha and Tim came alive again too. 

“Oh my god,” Sasha gaped. 

“Please don’t,” Martin begged. 

“Oh my god,” Sasha repeated, Tim just stared at him stunned. 

“Martin, really?”

“It’s not...I’m not–”

“Hopelessly head over heels into our boss?” Tim finished his sentence. Martin wanted to be devoured by the ground. Sasha and Tim teasing him about his work crush was one thing. Tim and Sasha knowing that said work crush was Jon was so, so, so much more worse. 

“Yeah, alright,” Martin sighed in surrender. “I like  _ him. _ Are you happy now?” 

“Well, I knew you had bad taste in men when you rejected me, but this bad?” Tim joked. 

“You said he was pretty!” Martin said defensively. 

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t wanna date him! He is so weird.” 

Sasha was laughing again so hard that tears were forming in her eyes. 

“Come on, let’s get back to work,” she giggled, “before Jon comes back to yell at us and poor Martin’s heart will collapse.” 

In the end it wasn’t Martin’s heart that collapsed, but shelves and a wall. And then Jane Prentiss attacked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then every thing changed when the worm nation attacked ;) 
> 
> Feel free to leave comments/kudos if you enjoyed this chapter. 
> 
> I know this chapter was only Martin's pov, the next one will have both Jon's and Martin's pov again.
> 
> Chapter title taken from [Songs We Fall Asleep To](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wp_WlOLUIsA) by Frank Hamilton
> 
> Episodes cited: 
> 
> * 023 - Schwarzwald  
> * 176.04 - Ephinany


	4. Can we skip past near-death clichés

Jon had never been the person to think much about his own death. When the thought had occasionally crossed his mind he had always hoped for the _old age, falling asleep on your couch not waking up completely painless_ kind of death. Realistically he knew that he was more likely to be run over by a car before that, since he was always deep in thought, rarely paying attention to his surroundings. 

But instead he was going to die in the storage room at his job, being devoured by worms side to side with Martin of all people. 

Jon slapped himself mentally. Okay, that was not fair, there were definitely worse people to die next to. And Martin had been surprisingly competent, dragging Jon and Sasha into the storage room when too many worms attacked. Using the corkscrew to get the worms out of their bodies had been a smart idea too. Sure Jon’s leg and arms hurt immensely and his clothes were covered in blood. But at least there currently were no worms crawling through his body. Yet. 

Martin was standing with his back to Jon, face turned towards the little glass window of the storage room door, trying to see anything. 

Sasha had run out of the storage room to save a clueless Tim from Prentiss, and now both were missing. Or dead. Jon tried to banish the thought. Instead he asked Martin what he was seeing. Unfortunately it was nothing but worms. Worms over worms over worms destroying the archive. No sign of Sasha or Tim. 

“Maybe they found the spare CO2,” Martin said semi hopefully, and slid down the wall next to Jon. 

“Spare? What? Where? I never saw any.” 

“Oh, I, er… I, I hid them in old casefile boxes so that the worms couldn’t find them,” Martin replied and a blush was creeping over his cheeks. Almost automatically Jon sighed. 

“They are just worms, Martin. I’ll doubt they care about the location of the fire extinguishers.” For some reason Martin’s face fell, only to be overcome with a sudden, unexpected anger. 

“Why do you push the sceptic thing so hard!?” Martin snapped . It was unnerving to hear his voice loud and upset like that. “I mean for god’s sake John, we’re literally hiding from some kind of worm… queen… thing, how, how could you possibly still not believe!?” 

“Of course, I believe. Of course I do,” Jon hissed back. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was that he had never heard Martin upset like that. Maybe he just needed to share, but Jon broke down. He admitted how he was scared, horribly, horribly scared. And so out of his depth. His faux scepticism had just been one of the many walls he tended to hide behind. And it had worked perfectly. Until now. 

“The scepticism, feigning ignorance. It just felt safer,” he explained, after having calmed down a bit more. The anger in Martin’s face had vanished and been replaced by a sympathetic look. 

“Well… It wasn’t,” he said, his voice so tender that Jon was feeling like he was breaking apart. Martin was looking at him, seeing a part of Jon that he had tried to keep hidden so desperately. It was thrilling in a way that Jon didn’t know if he liked it and yet he found himself craving more. Jon felt a lump forming in his throat and his pulse speeding up. The beating of his own heart seemed almost unbearably loud and he wondered if Martin was able to hear it. Martin just kept looking at him. 

Jon was suddenly aware how close they were, both leaning against the wall and the brief thought of the word _dog_ flashed through Jon’s mind. Quickly, Jon snapped out of it and cleared his throat. 

“So is that, the reason you are still here? Because you believe? Because you want to ty to make things better?” he asked and Martin snorted. 

“It’s very hard not to believe when an evil worm monster traps you in your apartment for two weeks. And let’s be real when have we ever _made things better_ ” he said and then hesitated. “But no. I don’t really know why I am still here. I just am. It didn’t feel right to just leave. I’ve typed up a few resignation letters, but I just couldn’t bring myself to hand them in.” He stopped again, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“It sounds stupid but, I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck.” 

While that explained why Martin hadn’t left the institute long ago, it sounded….odd. Before he could stop himself, Jon felt how his mouth opened to say something absolutely stupid. 

“Martin…You’re not, uh… You didn’t die here, did you?” he asked. Martin raised his eyebrows in confusion. 

“What? What? N-No… what?!”

Jon had never regretted asking a question so much. His brain must have short-circuited a to ask it in the first place.

“No, I just… No, just the way you phrased that…” he stuttered. 

“Made you think I was a _ghost?”_ Martin’s confusion shifted to amusement. 

“No… it’s -,” Jon tried to defend his idiotic question, but Martin cut him off. 

“No, no… it’s just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think.” That certainly made more sense than Martin being–

“A ghost? Really?” Martin chuckled as if he had read Jon’s thoughts.

“Shut up,” he said, but there was no bite in his voice. Martin managed to suppress his giggling but couldn’t quite hide his cheeky grin. Jon couldn’t blame him. 

It was almost nice this _heart to heart_. But before Jon could dwell further on the thought a horrible banging was coming from one of the walls. For the sweet, stupid moment of bliss that had been Martin’s smirk, Jon had forgotten about the worms. So this was it then. Jon tried to come up with any good last words, but all he could think about was how mean he had been to Martin.

“Martin, I’m sor–”

Before he could finish his sentence the wall finally caved in. Jon’s mind was so clouded with panic that all he could think was that it was very odd of Jane Prentiss to wear a hawaiian shirt. Then Jon’s brain caught up with reality. 

“Hi guys,” Tim said with a smirk, unbothered, as if it was just another normal day in the archive. 

“Tim!” Martin exclaimed and Jon could feel the relief oozing out of Martin’s body. He felt a similar way. Tim was alive! And he was presenting them with a way out. 

The rest was a bit of a blurr. Jon vaguely remembered following Tim down into the tunnels, Martin right next to him, supporting him. A moment later Martin was gone, Tim and Jon were running/limping for their lives and then there was a bone chilling scream. 

And then it was all over. Jon and Tim had climbed back into the archive and were met by the ECDC, carefully dressed in hazmat suits, taking the two exhausted men into tents, checking every inch of their body for worms. After Jon had been declared free of any worms, a paramedic entered the tent and started to take care of Jon’s wounds. 

“I’m afraid these will leave scars,” the paramedics told Jon, nodding to the holes the corkscrew had left in his body. He followed the trail of circular wounds as the paramedic put bandages on them. Worst off was his leg, Jon winced in pain as the paramedic tightened the bandage. Fortunately, his abdomen had been spared. His arms and shoulders had not been that lucky. They weren’t as bad as his leg, but still a pattern of round holes stretched from the back of his hands, up his arms, shoulders, covered his neck and stopped right under his chin. Three of them spread over his right cheek too, and it hurt the most as the paramedic cleaned out the wounds. 

“You’re lucky they didn’t manage to ruin your mark,” she said as she finished putting the last plaster on Jon. “You know that hurting your mark can negatively affect your soulmate,” she added. Jon knew that, but couldn’t help but roll his eyes. There were things of far higher priority than his stupid mark and his stupid soulmate. Mainly where Martin and Sasha were. Were they alright? 

He tried to get up, he needed to go look for them, find them. Instead the paramedic just pushed him back on his chair. 

“Uh uh,” she said with a stern face. “you sit tight. I’m going to get you some pain killers, and then you have to take it easy! Take sick leave for at least six weeks! Get some fresh air.” Jon groaned. He really couldn’t afford being out of the archives for six weeks. Though now that Prenntiss was gone, maybe he could take some time off. But he had to know that Sasha and Martin were okay first. 

Fortunately, Sasha bursted through the door just as the paramedic was leaving to fetch Jon’s painkillers.

“Jon, thank god you are alive!” Sasha exclaimed and threw her arms around him. It was maybe a bit too personal, too intimate for their work life. But given that they all had barely managed to escape death’s cold grip Jon allowed Sasha to hug him. Allowed himself to put his own, bandaged arms around her. 

“I tried to get to Tim, but apparently they are still checking him for worms. I can’t believe it is finally over,” she said as she let go of him. “Prentiss is dead.” Jon nodded, though he felt far from agreeing. Was Prentiss really dead? Also it clearly wasn’t over because Martin was still not here. Martin was still gone. 

“Do you know where Martin is?” Jon asked, his voice hoarse. Any hope that Martin had returned while Jon had been examined in quarantine left his body when he saw Sasha’s face. 

“Wasn’t he with you and Tim?” her brows furrowed as she replied. Jon felt his stomach turn into ice. If Sasha didn’t know where Martin was, it meant that Martin was still lost in the tunnels. Jon tried to focus on the word _lost_ rather than the other word that was buzzing in the back of his mind. Martin would show up again. Alive! 

“He was….but, uhm…” Jon stuttered. “We lost him in the tunnels.” God he felt awful. Prentiss probably had wanted to kill Martin just as much as Jon. She must have seen Martin as escaped prey, as someone she still had to get. Jon really should have paid better attention in the tunnels, looked out for Martin. But he had been so distracted by his own pain, his own fear. And then Martin had been gone. His face must have dropped because Sasha gently patted him on the shoulder, trying to avoid his patched up wounds. He attempted to give her a thankful smile, but failed. Suddenly there was a rush of people running through the tent, followed by some shouting. 

“What’s going on?” Sasha asked, definitely fear in her voice. Was it Prentiss? Had she in fact survived? Jon tensed. 

“There is a body,” he overheard one of the paramedics say and all the air left Jon’s lungs. He shared one quick, panicked look with Sasha before they jumped up and rushed out of the paramedics tent. His body was in pain from the sudden movement, but Jon ignored it. His heart was racing just as much as his thoughts. _There is a body_ , the words echoed in his mind on a never ending loop. _There is a body._

Sasha and he burst through the doors of the institute into the lobby. The corridor towards the archives was blocked with hazard tape. In front of it were several ECDC people, standing in a small group, discussing something, their hands waving hectically through the air. But Jon didn’t care about the ECDC. He cared about the paramedic who was kneeling on the floor because next to her was Martin. He was wrapped in a silver blanket, body trembling and his face looking so pale and so full of horror as if it was made out of statement paper. But he was alive! Jon felt the horrible pressure of panic slowly leaving his body. He could hear Sasha exhale in relief right next to him. 

Jon was just about to walk towards Martin, to kneel down next to him, to ask him how he was doing, when another paramedic pushed his arm in front of Jon’s chest. 

“Step back please,” he said firmly and Sasha and Jon automatically obeyed. As they stepped back, two more paramedics emerged, carrying a stretcher. In the joy of Martin being alive Jon had almost forgotten what had caused his initial panic. They had found a body. The body of Gertrude Robinson. 

And then Jon passed out.

When he woke up again, he had to endure Elias giving him a lecture about his “unhealthy work ethic” and how he was supposed to go home and rest! But Jon couldn’t do that. He was the head archivist after all, he needed proper, accurate reports of the attack. The fresher the better. Also every time he closed his eyes and tried to relax, he saw Gertrude’s dead body passing before his eyes. No, Jon couldn’t go home. Not yet. In exchange for his statement, Jon promised Elias to go home once he had gotten the recordings of everyone involved.

Elias gave Jon a brief account of how Sasha had run into his office, demanding to trigger the fire alarm. Sasha was physically unharmed, but still incredibly tired and worn out when she confirmed Elias’s story.

Still she was nothing compared to Tim, who was in even worse shape than Jon. He was covered in far more holes, his limbs still shaking. He barely managed to speak. Once he was done, Jon was more than happy to send Tim home and told him to take care. 

Then Martin entered the room. Every part of Jons’ body wanted to reach out, and to scream _I am so glad you survived_ , but instead he forced himself to ask Martin to give a statement. Martin took a deep breath before he began to speak. 

“Well, I was doing some background checks for case 0081709, when you and Sasha started screaming, so I went to ch-”

“Yes, yes, I was there!” Jon interrupted Martin impatiently. “I was with you for almost the whole time.” 

Martin flinched and his eyes dropped to the floor. 

“Sorry,” he said miserably. Jon sighed. _Well done, Jon. Way to be a good boss, Jon_ , he scolded himself. 

“Ah, it’s fine. I just… I only need from when you got separated. From when you got lost in the tunnels,” he said more gently this time. Somehow that made it worse though, because when Martin looked up his eyes were filled with tears. 

“No, I mean… I’m sorry I left you,” he sobbed. There was a pain in Jon’s chest that, he was sure, had nothing to do with the wounds Prentiss had left. 

“Oh, Martin,” the realization that Martin thought _he_ had been the one to abandon Tim and Jon and not the other way around hurt. Before Jon could stop Martin, ensuring him that it wasn’t his fault, and that Jon had been the one to lose Martin down in the tunnels, Martin continued to sob. 

“It was an accident. I thought you two were with me! I, I thought you were right behind me. But when I turned round you were gone. You were both gone. It was an accident,” the tears were streaming out of his eyes by now. Jon was torn. His first instinct was to reach out, to cup Martin’s cheek and to tell him that it was alright. That he was glad that Martin was still alive. That it all didn’t matter. But Jon’s brain was urging him to press on, to find out what happened to Gertrude. He needed answers, he didn’t need a crying Martin. 

“I know. It’s fine, Martin. Everybody’s…,” Jon sighed. “Everyone’s fine… I just need you to tell me what happened next, and then it’s finished.” Jon tried to give Martin an encouraging smile, but his face was too worn to comply. Still Martin seemed to calm down slightly. 

After Martin had managed to swallow down most of his tears, he too told Jon everything. How he had gotten lost in the tunnels, how they stretched on for miles over miles, how he had found the small room filled with old cassette tapes and Getrude Robinson’s dead body. He didn’t remember properly how he managed to get back to the trap door that let into the archives or how he showed the police where he had found the body. Just that he was not keen to go back into the tunnels. That’s where Martin stopped. His eyes trailed back up to Jon’s face, begging the silent question if he could finally go home. And Jon wanted nothing more but to tell Martin yes, to tell Martin to go to bed, to take care of himself like he had told Tim and Sasha. But he couldn’t do that. He still needed to know. 

“Martin, how did she die?” he asked. Martin hesitated. 

“Martin?” Jon pressed on. “How did she die?” 

“She was shot! Three times, that I could see. Three shots to the chest.” Martin’s voice was shaky. “Can I go now? Please?” 

All Jon could do was nodd. Martin’s words were still rushing through his head. _Shot. Three times._

Martin stood up to leave and Jon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried to digest Martin’s statement. As much as Jon disliked the supernatural he had hoped that some kind of eldritch creature had caused the death of Gertrude. Instead she had been shot. Which meant that whoever had killed her, was human. The thought made Jon uneasy. Were they coming for him next? Was it someone who he knew? 

Before Jon could spiral any further in his anxious thoughts, someone tenderly put a hand on his shoulder. Jon was too tired to flinch. Whatever this was, he just wanted to get it over with. He looked up, ready to face Prenntis, Getrude’s killer, or any other monster. Instead he just saw Martin standing over him. Apparently he hadn’t left after getting up like Jon had assumed.

“Go home, Jon,” Martin said gently, but it was more an order than a request. Jon swallowed and nodded. His painkillers were wearing off and he could feel every single bone in his body. Gladly, he accepted Martin’s hand to pull him up from the chair. His limbs were almost too heavy to move. Slowly and only with Martin’s support Jon dragged himself out of the archives. Upstairs Martin called him a cab, and gently pushed Jon inside, giving the driver Jon’s address. 

“And don’t even think about coming back until you feel better,” Martin said firmly. “I will literally drag you out of the institute.” Jon didn’t have enough energy left to argue and he was not sure Martin would even let him. So he just nodded. Jon had gathered by now that Martin liked to take care of people. But as Martin was about to close the cab door, Jon wondered briefly if Martin ever took care of himself. There was a familiar tugging in Jon’s stomach and quickly he pushed his hand against the door to stop Martin for a second.

“Rest up too, okay?” he said. For a moment surprise overtook the weary expression on Martin’s face. 

“Okay,” Martin whispered, before closing the door.

And then the car drove off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really struggled with this chapter because I just didn’t know how to approach it. I just really wanted to avoid simply re-narrating the whole episode but that kinda happened aways. I’m far more excited to share the next chapters with you. 
> 
> I also think I will from now on post every Sunday and Wednesday, however I am moving this week so I can’t guarantee that it will happen. (This also means I won't be able to listen to the new episode straight when it comes out and I am fuming about that). 
> 
> As always feel free to feed my writing muse by leaving comments/kudos if you enjoyed this chapter :) 
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [Touch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtgxwkIhH5M) by Sleeping at Last.
> 
> Episodes cited: 
> 
> * 039 - Infestation  
> * 040 - Human Remains


	5. Lyin' isn't better than silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know how time works and thought that the Prentiss attack was in October instead of June...that's why you'll have a Christmas party in this chapter (and also because my local grocery store started selling gingerbread when I wrote this chapter....2 weeks ago). Anyways enjoy!

The attack had left Martin with a guilty feeling that gouged itself more painfully through him than Prentiss’ worms ever could have. So even after weeks Martin tried to still make up for accidentally leaving Jon and Tim in the tunnels. In Jon’s case that meant kicking him out of the archives every time he tried to sneak in instead of staying home and recovering. After a month, Martin couldn’t manage to keep him out of the institute any longer. So instead he moved on to forcing Jon to take breaks(even if they never lasted longer than 5 minutes), to at least eat a biscuit now and then as a form of food, and actually leave the archive at a sensible time. He also assisted Jon with his research far more than usually. Secretly Martin hoped that if he did more work, Jon would do less. But of course that wasn’t the case. 

In Tim’s case, who had been a lot more sensible about his recovery, it was a lot easier to calm Martin’s guilt. Every time Tim groaned about how painful his scars were Martin would look down, face burning with shame and mumble an apology. But Tim would always come, wrap his arm around Martin, squeezing him tightly and telling him that it was alright, because  _ if anything the scars make me more attractive Martin. I should be thanking you.  _ Next to the physical affection it really helped that Tim just did what he did best, mainly teasing Martin. For example, he’d lay claim to the last chocolate biscuit, arguing that since Martin had abandoned him in the tunnels it was the least Martin could do _.  _ Sasha always told Martin that he had just as much a right to the last biscuit as Tim did, but Martin waved her off. The teasing helped. 

It was also Tim’s teasing that had gotten Martin into helping Tim locating a very misplaced file he needed for a follow up. Finding anything in the archive was impossible. They had been working there for months and only one shelf so far had been neatly organized half filled with paper files the other half filled with tapes over tapes. Tim swore he had already seen the file he needed and accidentally left it on one of the unorganized shelves in the storage room, but Martin wasn’t convinced that they would ever find it. 

“You’re looking forward to the Christmas party tonight?” Tim asked casually, his fingers gliding over the backs of several files. 

“Yeah, it will be nice to be able to take our mind off things, you know,” Martin said, and put another bunch of files back on the shelf. Tim hummed in agreement.

“Plus, you know, might be able to catch Jon under a mistletoe,” Tim joked and Martin just rolled his eyes. At this point Sasha and Tim had teased him so many times about his hopeless crush on Jon, that it barely even affected Martin anymore.

“Oh yeah, why don’t  _ you _ go and catch _ Sasha _ under a mistletoe, huh?” he replied and maybe Martin had just imagined it but a brief pink flushed across Tim’s cheeks. He and Sasha had gotten even closer after her essentially saving his life during the Prentiss attack. However, being Sasha and being Tim they both danced around the topic pretending that they were nothing but very close friends. Very close friends who had hooked up several times in the past. No matter how intelligent and talented the people working at the institute were, communication didn’t count as anyone’s strong skill here. 

“If you don’t shut up Martin, I’ll catch  _ you _ under a mistletoe,” Tim half flirted half threatened and took a step towards Martin. 

“You...you...you would never,” Martin stuttered and instinctively made a step back only to hit a shelf with his back. 

“I wouldn’t?” Tim asked all innocently. “Are you sure?” with a devilish smile on his lips he took another step towards Martin. Martin’s knees started to get weak. It was not like he had never thought about it and it wasn’t that Tim wasn’t attractive. Tim was objectively speaking hot. And if Martin hadn’t had such a horrible crush on Jon, he probably would have thought about kissing Tim more than once or twice. 

But now Tim was inches away from him, putting his hand on the bookshelf right next to Martin and leaning in. Martin could feel Tim’s hot breathe on his skin.  _ Oh my god, oh my god,  _ they were going to kiss. Tim was going to kiss him. And maybe Martin would kiss him back. 

Instead Tim suddenly pulled out a file right next to Martin’s ear and took a step back. 

“Ah perfect, this is the one I’ve been looking for,” he said and started reading in the file. 

All Martin could do was stare at Tim, perplexed about what had just happened. Or more accurately what had  _ not _ just happened. 

“Why...why did you do that?” he tried to steady his voice and failed miserably.

“Because I thought it’d be funny to see you go all blush blush knees shaking,” he said with a laugh. 

“And you didn’t get through with it why?”

“I knew your little heart wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt of kissing someone that wasn’t Jon. Even though you really should,” Tim said before adding, “Also I’d be far more fun to not do it in secret and see if it would get a reaction out of Jon.”

“Get what kind of reaction out of me?” a sharp voice asked on Jon’s head poked into the storage room. Martin wondered briefly if being devoured by Prentiss’ worms would have been a more pleasant death than whatever this moment was. How long had Jon been listening? Did he know? Or did he just happen to poke his head in during the last half of Tim’s sentence. Martin prayed to whatever supernatural entity might listen that it was the later. Jon still shot them a stern but also curious look and Martin was in too much of an inner panic to say anything.

“Christmas party,” Tim said, all casual and cool. How was he doing it? Martin was at the brink of collapse and Tim was just standing there, having almost kissed Martin lying to Jon like it was the most normal thing to do. “What’s your reaction if we asked you to come along?” 

Jon huffed dismissively. “I don’t like parties,” he said and turned around to leave again. 

“You should really come though,” Martin’s mouth spoke without his permission. Jon stopped and turned waiting for what else Martin had to say. “You know, getting out of the archive! Socializing with real people, not just statements.” He knew that Jon was spending too much time down there. That he wasn’t taking care of himself. 

Jon frowned, looking like he was actually considering Martin’s argument. “I’ll think about it,” he said eventually. Martin knew that was just his polite way of saying no way never, but still he couldn’t help but hope. After Jon had left the room again, Tim elbowed Martin.

“ _ Operation Mistletoe  _ is on then huh?” he said with a wink. 

“Oh shut up!” 

  
  


When Martin arrived in the now festively decorated lobby after work, he was very glad to note that there were no mistletoes hanging around. One thing less to worry about. There were tables pushed at the edges of the room, filled with drinks, mince pies, ginger bread and other christmassy goods. A sudden  _ peng,  _ followed with laughter, made Martin jump. A few steps away from him Rosie and David, one of the researchers, had pulled a christmas cracker apart. Apparently Rosie had won as she put a flimsy, orange paper crown on top of her head. When she saw Martin he gave her a shy wave to which she responded with a brief smile before turning back to David. Rosie had always been friendly with Martin, but ever since the Prentiss attack, people kept their distance to the archives and anyone associated with them.

Martin was glad to spot Sasha on the other side of the lobby, her eyes following Tim with an amused smile as he tried to flirt himself through the room. Martin quickly grabbed two mugs of mulled wine and made his way over to her. 

“Thanks,” she said and took the mug gladly out of Martin’s hands. The mulled wine was the perfect mixture of bitter and sweet with just the right amount of cinnamon. Martin let the warmth of the drink spread through his body and clasped his fingers gingerly around the mug, careful not to burn himself. 

“So what are your plans for Christmas?” Sasha had stopped looking at Tim and turned directly to Martin. 

“Going to see my mum,” he tried to sound chipper.

“Aw, Christmas with the family is always the best.”

“It really is,” he gave Sasha a beaming smile and took another sip of his mulled wine. 

It was a lie. A lie Martin was very good at telling everyone. A lie he almost believed himself at this point. If he was honest he hated Christmas. Growing up they had never had enough money to properly celebrate. And then his mother had gotten sick and had been too weak for any celebrations no matter how small. Not to mention that every gift Martin gave her had always just been met with a disdainful huff. She had never worn the scarfs he had knitted her, read the books he had bought, and thinking about it Martin couldn’t remember if she ever had actually wished him a Merry Christmas. It didn’t matter anyways. He would only be there on Christmas Day having a quick lunch with her. If he spent too much time with her, she always got upset. He told himself that it was the ongoing altsheimers. Another lie he almost believed. The rest of the holidays Martin would probably just spend at this flat. Eat cheap take out, watch old movies, trying not to feel sorry for himself. 

He mentally slapped himself. Right now his mother didn’t matter. Right now, he was at his work party. With his friend wearing silly jumpers, drinking mulled wine watching Tim trying to flirt with every single co-worker who was not yet in a blissful relationship with their soulmate. As if she had sensed that he needed it, Sasha leaned her head on Martin’s shoulder. 

“Doesn’t look like Tim is very successful tonight,” she said and nodded towards Tim who was walking towards them, his face clearly upset. 

“You get attacked by a hive of worms once and suddenly everybody is avoiding you like you are gonna turn into one yourself any second,” Tim complained as he reached and grabbed a glass of prosecco from the nearby table. “And here I thought scars were supposed to be sexy,” he added and self consciously looked at the round holes spread across his arms.

“Or everyone has finally realized that you are a horrible dancer and is just trying to save their toes,” Sasha teased him. Martin chuckled but Tim just crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at the dance floor. 

“Not funny, Sasha,” he hissed, which only amused Sasha and Martin more. 

“Aw, come on,” Sasha said, put her mug down, grabbed Tim’s arm and pulled him towards the dance floor. “I’ll dance with you before you ruin everyone’s mood with your pout.” A brief moment of surprise flickered across Tim’s face, which quickly turned into a mischievous grin. He barely managed to put his own glass down, before Sasha had put both her arms around his neck and they started swaying on the dance floor. Martin watched the two of them, his chest filled with a certain pull he couldn’t quite place. 

“I didn’t know Sasha’s feet had a death wish,” a voice suddenly said next to Martin, making him jump once again. Next to him Jon had appeared, face stern, eyes fixed on Sasha and Tim, but his fingers were tapping along to the beat of the music. 

“Jon?” Martin couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. “You came!” 

“I can hear the party all the way down to the archives, it’s no use I can’t get any work done. 

“Ah, I see,” Martin didn’t really know what to say. It was a pleasant surprise to see Jon. It was good that he was leaving the archives, but at the same time Martin was slightly out of his depth here. So he did the one thing that was familiar enough. 

“Would you like some mulled wine?” he asked Jon and lifted his own mug. “It’s lovely.” 

“More of an eggnog person,” Jon said with the faintest hint of a smile. Martin just nodded and neatly filed this information into the category of  _ things Martin knew about Jon _ in his head. So far the category was sparsely filled. 

Martin turned his gaze back to Sasha and Tim. Despite Tim’s horrible dancing skills they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. Tim must have said something funny because Sasha threw her head back in laughter, before pressing her forehead against the slope of Tim’s neck. Martin wondered how they did it. They weren’t soulmates, they weren’t even together and yet they had this connection, this chemistry interlaced with an intimacy that not even the most bound soulmates were able to create. Martin envied them. Automatically the fingers of his left hand started to glide over his right wrist, tracing the words on his skin. It was a simple gesture of comfort, but tonight it didn’t work. The longing was growing in Martin’s chest so much that it hurt, he just wanted. Wanted and wanted and wanted and couldn’t have. 

His eyes glanced back to Jon, wandering from his arms up his neck, along the round scars the corkscrew had left. Martin wanted to trace them with his fingers, press little kisses on every single one of them. His dark hair had gotten quite a bit longer, so that Jon had to wear it in a small ponytail if he didn’t want it to constantly fall into his face. The grey streaks grew more prominent each day. Martin wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through Jon’s hair, gently caressing his head. In that moment Jon turned and caught Martin’s gaze. 

“What?” he asked. His voice lacked it’s usual sharpness and there was a hint of curiosity shining in his eyes. Like he was actually interested as to  _ why _ Martin had been staring instead of annoyed that Martin had been staring in the first place. Martin’s heart fluttered.

_ You are beautiful.  _

“Nothing, just thought I had seen a spider on your shoulder.” Jon’s face paled and his whole body tensed. Bad lie, bad lie, bad lie! 

“But I was wrong, I was wrong! There is no spider,” Martin hurried to say. “You’re a totally spider free zone.” Jon relaxed slightly and Martin wanted to bang his head against the nearest pillar.  _ Spider free zone _ ? Why was he such an idiot? An awkward silence settled between the two of them. Martin’s brain scrambled desperately to come up with an interesting topic of conversation but all he heard himself say was, “You’ve got any nice plans for the holidays?” 

“Not really,” Jon replied and shrugged. “I don’t celebrate Christmas, so no plans.”

“You’re not gonna spend it in the archives are you?” Martin joked, though the way Jon’s face fell validated Martin’s concern. 

“Jon, no!”

“I’m not going to,” Jon lifted his hands up defensively. “Okay, I promise. I’ll just be at home alone.” 

Martin had a brief vision of both of them in his flat over the holidays. Tangled together on his couch, ignoring the festivities around them, having take out, watching films. Just him and Jon. Alone together. 

Jon cleared his throat. Oh god, Martin had been staring at him all dreamily again hadn’t he?

Luckily Sasha and Tim chose that moment to return from the dance floor, their hands still intertwined. 

“Boss!” Tim exclaimed in his usual cheery tone. 

“We didn’t think you’d make it,” Sasha said and gave Jon a warm smile. 

“Got visited by the ghost of past Christmas?” Tim joked and Martin couldn’t help but let out a quick snort. 

“No, Tim. I wasn’t visited by a ghost,” Jon’s voice was stern. “That would simply be…. _ humbug. _ ” Had….had Jon just made a joke? There definitely was a bit of a mischievous grin hiding in the corners of his mouth and god it only made him more handsome. 

Sasha and Tim seemed to be as shocked as Martin and just stared at Jon. 

“What?” Jon said innocently, unable to hide his smile any longer. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Tim finally managed to say. “Jonathan Sims? Making a joke?” 

Jon rolled his eyes and Sasha started to giggle. Martin felt a warm fondness spread in his stomach. 

“See it as an early Christmas present,” Jon said dryly. 

“In that case, God bless us all,” Tim replied, making Sasha and Martin completely lose it and even Jon escaped a small chuckle. It was the relaxed and most cheerful all of them had been in weeks. 

Maybe, just maybe, they would all be okay, Martin thought. 

Of course, he was wrong. 

*********

His month away from the archives had given Jon enough time to think more clearly about things. Mainly about who had killed Gertrude Robinson. The fact that her death had not been supernatural but cold blooded murder turned Jon’s insides to ice. He doubted that Gertrude had had much life outside the archives –at least he assumed based on his own experience– so Jon couldn’t imagine some random person had walked into the archives and killed her. Sure statement givers could be odd sometimes, but no statement giver would have known about the tunnels and dragged her there. No, Jon was certain the murderer of Gertrude Robinson was working in the institute. 

That had been the only reason he had shown up to the Christmasparty. He had thought it would be a good opportunity to watch his coworkers, see if he could spot any suspicious behaviour. Of course they had all behaved perfectly normal.

The worst thing was not that the whole thing had been useless, but that Jon had even started to enjoy himself. Not that he would ever admit that. But it simply had been nice to see his archive staff happy and relaxed for the first time in months. It had been nice to hear Sasha giggle at Tim’s horrible jokes and from Tim to boast how he could actually pull off his scars, seemingly not deeply traumatized. And it was nice to see some colour to return to Martin’s cheeks. Being able to leave the institute and sleeping in his own bed seemed to be doing Martin a great deal of good. 

And sure, Jon was happy for them, but they were also all at the top of his suspects list. Everyone knew that Sasha was more qualified for the job of head archivist than Jon was. Maybe she had killed Gertrude hoping to climb the career ladder a lot faster. Tim on the other hand was the one to discover the tunnels. Maybe he had already known about them? Because he had dragged Gertrude’s body through them? While Tim lacked motive, he sure had had the opportunity. 

And then there was Martin. Martin, who under the pretense of caring had kept Jon out of the archives for a month. Who had, ever since Jon returned, barely left his side, suddenly apparently deeply invested in Jon’s research and his theories about the tunnels. 

Martin, who had lied to Jon. There was a sour, acidic taste forming in Jon’s mouth. If it hadn’t been for the letter Jon might have believed that Martin actually cared for him. That the short moment they had shared in the storage room during the attack had actually brought them closer together. He had trusted Martin, let Martin see a part of himself that he usually kept hidden. And Martin had lied to him. 

Jon had only found out by accident. After the attack, Martin had moved back to his flat, leaving the storage room back to its intended purpose; and accidentally leaving his notebook behind. Jon had stumbled across it late one night, after everyone had gone home. At first he had assumed it was going to be statement notes. Turned out it was Martin’s poetry and a letter to his mother, tucked away behind the last few pages. Jon knew he should have closed the book upon this discovery but some unexpected curiosity kept him reading.

The poems had been kind of sweet actually. Jon was not really a fan of poetry, especially if it was heavily influenced by Keats. Still somehow Martin’s poetry had managed to tug a bit on Jon’s heart strings. And wasn’t that the point of poetry? To evoke emotion, no matter how small? The emotion that the letter Jon found among the poetry evoked was less pleasant.

_ I am worried about the others finding out that I have been lying.  _

Lying about what? Jon wished he could stop thinking about the letter, but the line haunted him, followed him. Every time Martin put down a cup of tea in front of him, every time Martin gave him the follow up report to a statement, every time Marting gave him a shy smile all Jon could think about was that Martin was lying. 

Jon was taken aback by how mad it made him feel. Sure it wasn’t great that Martin was lying to him, that Martin may have killed Getrude, and Jon’s anger was justified. But why did it also hurt so much?

Jon shook his head and focused on his notes. Just because Martin was lying didn’t mean he was a murderer. If Jon was honest Tim and Sasha were just as suspicious as Martin. Not to mention Elias. 

While Jon was certain that one of his assistants or Elias were responsible for the murder, the police seemed to have a different idea. At least that’s what Jon felt like when Basira Hussain walked into his office, her eyes digging into Jon’s skin. She didn’t make any outright accusations, but Jon was not foolish enough to not at least consider that he was a suspect. It did make a certain sense, after all he did inherit Gertrude’s job. However, the fact that prior to his promotion Jon had always shown little to no interest in the archives played in his favour. And to his surprise, instead of interrogating him, Basira ended up given a statement of her own. Jon hoped he would not have to have a run in with section 31 again, but given his job he doubted it would be possible to avoid. At least Basira seemed weirdly nice for a sectioned officer. She even agreed to give Jon access to Gertrude’s tapes that had been taken by the police after discovering her body. The thought of what he might find on Gertrude tapes though made Jon fairly uneasy.

His coworkers seemed to notice that Jon was tense, however blaming it on Jane Prentiss worked well enough to hide his suspicions and his paranoia from them. So well that one day Martin came into Jon’s office, after tentatively knocking, bearing a rather unusual gift. 

Jon had expected tea, but instead Martin put a silver container down on Jon’s desk. Jon had a brief deja-vu to the time Martin had come into his office banging a jar full of Prentiss’ worms on the table. It turned out Jon wasn’t so far off. 

“What….uhm...is this, Martin?” he asked, apprehensively leaning away from the container. 

“I’ve got it from the ECDC,” Martin explained. “It’s Prentiss’ ashes.” 

“And they are on my desk, why?” 

“Jon, I have seen the way you’ve been acting since coming back,” Martin sighed. “You are more irritated than usual, constantly looking over your shoulder, jumping at the quietest of noises. I don’t know if there is something else going on, but in case it is because you are still afraid of Prentiss I thought maybe it would give you some reassurance that she is really dead! That she is not going to come for us again. It’s over, Jon!” 

“Oh.” Jon stared at the urn in front of him not quite knowing what to think. “Thank you?” 

“No problem. Do you want tea?”

“Sure.” 

It was almost sweet. And weirdly enough it was working. Martin had not been completely wrong. While Jon was mainly worried about who had murdered Getrude, the thought of Jane Prentiss coming back and attacking them again had been buzzing in the back of his mind as well. Looking at the urn Jon felt like maybe it was just something harmless Martin was lying about. Not that Jon was ready or willing to trust Martin at this point. But given that Martin was….well Martin –the man relocated spiders instead of killing them for god’s sake– Jon couldn’t imagine Martin murdering anyone. While he couldn’t give Martin trust, he would give Martin the benefit of the doubt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it. If you did feel free to leave kudos/comments :) 
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics from by [you were good to me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHiC_26vBP4)Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler. 
> 
> Also I know I said last chapter I'll probs update every Wednesday/Sunday but I might just shift that to Tuesday/Saturday. Point is I'll try to update twice a week.


	6. You'll see we're closer than we seem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know how global Telekom is, so just for context it's a phone company. Their company logo is in a horrible magenta pink and they have a mobile phone service called t-mobile. This is really important for a very cheese (probably not even that funny) joke in this chapter. Anyways enjoy :)

To say that Jon’s week was going not so well was putting it lightly. Saying that it was a bad week was more accurate, but still didn’t reach quite the level of horrendous that it really had been.  At first Martin had burst into Jon’s office offering him tea, only to find Jon hunched over a stack of papers with confidential information about the archive staff. The pictures of Tim’s house that were lying right next to the papers didn’t help Jon’s claim that he was writing up reviews at all. 

Of course Martin had told Sasha and Tim. If Jon had been in his place he would have done the same.

And then Sasha caught him following her during her lunch break too. She didn’t spit angry insults like Tim had. Instead her usually so warm voice was ice cold, and her words burned worse than Tim’s rage had. 

A sensible person would have stopped at that point. But Jon was too sleep deprived, too on edge, too deep in it to be a sensible person. It only really became a problem after Elias had called Jon into his office. Jon was no stranger to complaints from statement givers, he knew he was not the most kind person when it came to them. But this time the complaint had been launched by his assistants. All three had complained to Elias and Elias was just as upset about Jon’s stalking as his assistants, at least judging by the disapproval in his voice. Jon barely managed to convince Elias that he would stop. Elias knew that Jon was lying and Jon was aware that Elias was not believing him. Nevertheless he let Jon return to the archives. 

Elias too was on his lists of suspects, but no matter how desperate Jon was to find out the truth, he was not quite stupid enough to go stalking after Elias. 

Jon’s paranoia was not calmed by the fact that someone was going through his drawers. Someone who was exploring the tunnels too perhaps? Someone who had murdered Gertrude? Jon had hoped that the few rare tapes that Basira occasionally brought him would help somehow. But they didn’t. All he learned was that Gertrude was not the messy old woman who he had thought her to be. How she had been murdered still remained a mystery though. 

And then unfocused and stressed as he was, he failed to protect Helen Richardson. Not that it was his job as an archivist to protect or to save people. But still it was his fault that she was gone. Lost in the corridors of the horrible creature that called itself Michael; and was currently sitting across from Jon, laughing a truly unnerving laugh that made Jon feel like someone scraping a knife over his bones. Michael’s long, sharp, distorted hands didn’t ease the feeling at all. 

“Do you even know  _ they’re all _ lying to you?” Michael giggled. Jon swallowed nervously. It was one thing to suspect that your coworkers were in a scheme out to get you. It was something totally different to have it confirmed. Not that he should put too much weight on Michael’s words. But when you have a horrible assumption bubbling in the pits of your stomach and then someone comes along to confirm your fear, to confirm that you are not crazy or paranoid but in fact that you are right, you latch onto those words without questioning them. And Michael’s word fitted like a key into the lock that had been Jon’s worst fears, freeing the thoughts Jon had hoped so much were false.

And then Michael stabbed him. His hand had reached out for Jon’s, mimicking an act of comforting, only to mockingly dig his blade fingers into Jon’s flesh. Then he disappeared, leaving a bleeding, horrified Jon in the archives. 

Jon groaned. He was in pain. With shaky legs he managed to drag himself into the kitchen, where he was trying to locate the first aid kit. His search was interrupted by Martin.

“Oh my god, Jon! What happened?” Martin had entered the kitchen, his eyes landing on the streams of blood, running down Jon’s arm, dripping onto the kitchen floor. 

“I stabbed myself with a bread knife,” Jon lied. He didn’t want to tell Martin about Michael. He couldn’t trust Martin with that information. He couldn’t trust Martin. Jon almost backed away, trying to hide his hand as Martin stepped towards him. But Martin was faster, quickly but gently he took Jon’s wrist and looked at his hand. Carefully he turned Jon’s hand around and examined the cut. 

“You’ll definitely need stitches,” he declared calmly. Jon had expected Martin to be more uneasy at the sight of that much blood. But instead he just grabbed a kitchen towel and wrapped it tightly around Jon’s hand. Jon flinched briefly, but didn’t pull his hand out of Martin’s.

“A band aid will do,” he grumbled. He didn’t have time to go to the hospital. 

“Jon!” Martin’s voice was so sharp that Jon was taken aback for a moment. The firm stare that was accompanied by Martin’s voice made it clear that there was no point in arguing. 

“Fine,” he sighed. 

“Okay, just hold tight!” Martin said and finally let go of Jon’s hand. “I’m going to get Tim so he can drive you to the hospital!”

“Tim has a car?” Jon asked surprised and stopped Martin who was already halfway out of the door. 

“Yes, he calls it his  _ t-mobile.” _

“He what?” 

“Yeah, because it’s this really horrible shade of magenta and because ‘it ensures that he is always available’”, Martin explained, trying not to grin at the pure stupidity of that name. Knowing Tim, it only made sense that he would name his car  _ t-mobile  _ and Jon could imagine very clearly with what voice Tim would have said that, wink and finger guns included. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Tim is in Chichester following up the latest Leitner case.”  _ And I doubt he would drive me to the hospital _ , Jon thought bitterly. 

“Oh,” said Martin, the worry on his face was increasing with each minute. “I’ll go find Sasha then, or should we call an ambulance? How much blood have you lost? Shall I–”

“I’m fine, Martin.” Jon interrupted him. He hated it that Martin was fussing so much over him, it was such a contradiction to the idea that Martin might be a cold blooded killer. It was making Jon doubt himself and he couldn’t afford to doubt himself. 

“Also there is no use in finding Sasha, she is having lunch with her boyfriend,” he added and Martin’s brows furrowed. 

“I thought you said Tim was in Chichester?” 

“He is,” now Jon was the one being confused. “I don’t see how that relates to Sasha’s boyfriend.” Judging by Martin’s expression he was just as confused, then a second later his lips formed a silent  _ oh _ and realisation spread across his face.

“Sorry, I thought you made a joke and sarcastically referred to Tim as Sasha’s boyfriend given that they are, you know...” he shrugged. “Well given that they are them. Should have known, you don’t really make jokes.” 

“I do make jokes!” Jon protested and Martin shot him a sceptical look. “But no, Sasha has an actual boyfriend.” 

“Does Tim know that?” 

Jon sighed. “I don’t know Martin. I don’t participate in office gossip.”

“Course you don’t.” They both seemed to have forgotten why they were having this conversation in the first place when another flash of pain jolted through Jon’s hand and he groaned. 

“Tube?” Martin asked. 

"Fine, tube,” Jon sighed and followed Martin who was already holding the door open for him. 

**********

Fortunately London was used to seeing weird things especially on the tube. So no one batted an eye at Jon and his in blood covered tea towel that occasionally would drip on the train floor. 

Conveniently the hospital was not too far away from the institute and by the time they arrived in A&E Jon was claiming that he had gotten used to the pulsing, burning sensation in his hand and that there really was no need for him being here. Martin just rolled his eyes, grabbed Jon’s elbow and dragged him to the receptionist. 

“Hi, what’s your emergency?” the receptionist greeted them. Jon opened his mouth, but before he could say something stupid like  _ oh nothing never mind us we are leaving _ , Martin spoke. 

“He cut himself with a bread knife. I’m pretty sure he will need stitches.” The receptionist quickly looked Jon up and down and then nodded.

“And you are his soulmate?” she asked and Martin’s head turned into a lovely shade of raspberry. 

“I’m his boss,” Jon clarified before Martin was able to stutter something, most likely very embarrassing, out. Maybe Martin had just imagined it, but Jon did seem a bit flustered. The words  _ I’m sorry what?  _ said in Jon’s voice started to play in Martin’s mind and he swallowed. 

If the receptionist noticed the nervous tension between Jon and Martin she didn’t say. Instead she handed them a form to fill out and sent them to the waiting area. There were only two seats left on a small bench, and when they sat down their knees bumped against each other. Martin needed to remind himself to breathe.

He held the form out for Jon to take. Jon just looked at the form then to Martin then back to the form before lifting his bleeding hand which he was holding tightly and clearing his throat. 

“Oh yes, sorry, of course,” Martin stammered. Of course Jon couldn’t fill out his own form. Martin looked down at the form and could feel the heat rising to this face once more. He briefly wondered if chronic blushing was a thing and if so if he could get it treated. Trying to steady his hands he started to fill out the form. At least the bits of information about Jon he knew. After that he had to ask. 

“Do you...do you have any allergies?” 

“No.” 

“Taking any medication?”

“Also no.”

“Birth year?” 

“1987,” Jon seemed to only reluctantly reveal that information. 

“Oh, same year as m–...David, from research!” Martin spoke without thinking. His mind had been hung up on the fact that Jon was apparently the same age as Martin.

Given Jon’s grey patches of hair Martin had been convinced that Jon must have been at least in his mid thirties. The fact that Jon was only half a year younger than Martin thrilled him weirdly. 

Martin was almost done with filling out the form. His pen was hovering over the one question he was dreading. Sure he could simply assume the answer, but if it turned out he had assumed wrong it would be worse. He inhaled deeply and without taking his eyes off the form said, “For insurance reasons they...uhm they need to know if you are in a relationship with your soulmate.” Jon shot him an annoyed look. 

“Yes, Martin. I have been secretly married to my soulmate for years now and we have 5 beautiful children and a dog,” he snarked. 

“I take that as a no then,” Martin said trying to hide the smile that was forming on his lips. Jon didn’t dignify Martin’s question with a response. But then Martin had another thought. 

“I guess that means you’re also not dating that police officer?” Martin knew he was pushing his luck, but he needed to know. 

“What?” Jon’s head shot up.

“Uh...Tim just mentioned that….that she was visiting you...and he suggested that you and her….”Martin tried to explain. 

Jon groaned. “Of course Tim did mention that.” Martin felt his heart sink. 

“So you are?” 

“Are what?”

“Dating her.”

“Oh. No...uhm….we’re–….I’m not–...she….she sometimes provides me with some of Gertrude’s tapes,” Jon stuttered. “That’s all.

“Oh.” Martin tried not to sound too relieved and failed. Jon didn’t seem to notice. Fortunately, before any more awkwardness could ensue, a nurse called them up and they followed her in a small examination room waiting for a doctor to show. Jon sat down on the doctor’s couch, while Martin took a chair right next to the door, opposite Jon. 

“Mr. Sims,” the doctor chirped as she entered the room. “I’ve been told your hand had a rather nasty encounter with a bread knife?” Martin liked her instantly. Jon on the other hand looked like one of the eldritch monsters from his statements had walked into the room. 

“Yes,” he simply said and Martin could hear how displeased he was having to be treated by such a cheery person, much to Martin’s amusement. 

“Okay then,” the doctor said, still in a very happy voice. “Let’s take that bracelet off and have a look.” Hesitantly, Jon removed his bracelet holding his hand out for the doctor to take a look. Martin’s breath hitched. 

He couldn’t help but be curious. Jon made such a fuss such a secret around his mark, Martin needed to know. However, from his spot all he could make out was the word  _ dig _ . Far too quickly Martin's brain formed an image of Jon standing over a dead body,  _ digging _ a grave suddenly joined by some mystery soulmate. Martin shook his head. Jon probably had his reasons to always hide his mark and just because it featured the word  _ dig  _ it didn’t mean it was actually a murder confession. 

Still there was a sudden sting of disappointment in Martin’s chest. He had always known that even though Jon had spoken the words on Martin’s wrist, it was unlikely that he was actually Martin’s soulmate. But still a tiny part of Martin had clung to the hope that maybe it was Jon. Obviously his ever growing crush had not helped silencing that tiny part. 

Maybe this was for the best, Martin decided. Maybe it would finally help him to get over this ridiculous crush. 

“You are very lucky you didn’t slice into your mark. It’s still intact,” the doctor told Jon. 

“Fantastic,” he said with gritted teeth. He acted like he had just been told that they had to amputate his hand. His reply made the doctor frown and she looked over to Martin, her smile fading. 

“He didn’t threaten you, did he?” she asked, directly looking at Martin. 

“What?”

“Look you are safe here, I need to press one button and security will be here,” she stood up and walked over to him, putting her hands reassuringly on Martin. Martin felt incredibly confused. One glance at Jon told him Jon was feeling the same. 

“Uhm...no, he didn’t? Why–”

“–I’d never hurt–”

“–Jon cut himself not–”

They were both speaking over each other, both equally confused. Sure, Jon had been a dick to him for a while. But then he had stopped. Okay, only to stalk Martin and his coworkers, but he had never threatened Martin. Also what did this have to do with Jon’s hand? The doctor seemed to relax, at their awkward stammering. 

“You’d be surprised how many people we have to treat here who cut into their mark on purpose,” the doctor explained. “And how often we have to take care of their much more injured soulmates in the room next door, while they get away with a little cut.” 

In theory Martin knew that hurting your mark could physically affect your soulmate. Not to the point where they could die, but it could hurt them enough to put them in an unstable condition. The thought made Martin shiver. Then his brain caught up with what the doctor had actually assumed. Namely, that he and Jon were soulmates.

“Oh...oh no, we’re not...we’re not soulmates,” Martin quickly said. He was surprised Jon hadn’t beaten him to it. It was the second time they had to clarify it today. Odd. Martin couldn’t help but wonder  _ why  _ exactly people assumed that they were soulmates upon seeing them. Maybe it was just that Martin was hovering over Jon, looking far too worried for a simple coworker. Or maybe everyone who wasn’t Jon was able to see that Martin was just absolutely smitten. 

“It seems odd that people who are destined to love each other would want to hurt each other like that,” Jon ripped Martin out of his thoughts. Jon looked incredibly pale at the thought. He caught Martin’s eyes for the tenth of a second, something unreadable in them, before quickly looking back to the doctor. 

“Well fate isn’t always kind,” she said, her face grim. “But since this apparently isn’t the case, let’s get you stitched up,” she added, back to her cheery tone and started to assemble the utensils she needed.

In the end it took five stitches to close the cut in Jon’s hand. He was told that it would leave a scar and he had just huffed dismissively. “What’s one more?” On one hand Martin was glad Jon took it so calmly. On the other hand he wished that Jon would just be a tad more careful. 

It was around 2pm when they left the hospital and headed back to the institute. With a low growl Martin’s stomach reminded him that the last time Martin had eaten had been breakfast. And breakfast had been too many hours ago. One look at Jon told Martin that it also had been too many hours since Jon had eaten. 

His face was haggard, the bags under his eyes more prominent than ever and he was ever so slightly staggering. When they arrived at the institute Jon turned straight towards the corridor that led down to the archives, but Martin had other plans. 

“Nope!” he told Jon, gently putting his hands on Jon’s shoulders and shifted him towards the canteen. 

“Martin, what the hell?” Jon yelped in surprise. Martin continued to push him down the other corridor. While Jon was quite tall, Martin was taller which made it a lot easier for him to force Jon to move. 

“You are not going back to the archives until you have had some lunch!” Martin was not the most confident person, but a switch in his brain just flicked when he saw someone who needed to be taken care of. So when Jon opened his mouth to argue, trying to wiggle himself away from under Martin’s hands, Martin just shook his head. 

“Uh uh, no arguing, you are having lunch!” he said firmly and Jon apparently knew that he had lost. 

“Alright, alright,” he grunted. His shoulders slagged and he finally managed to shrug Martin’s hand off

In the canteen Martin went for some bangers and mash, while Jon reluctantly put a few slices of pizza on his plate and followed Martin to a small table near the window. Knowing how hard the crust of the institute's pizza could be, Jon took a steak knife from the cutlery basket for easier cutting. Martin’s eyes went big for a second and then with a loud, “Nope,” he took Jon’s knife and tossed it in the bucket of water on the dirty dish trolley. 

“I can handle myself,” Jon exclaimed, face in disbelief that Martin had just taken his knife away. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Martin said and nodded towards Jon’s injured hand. “No sharp objects for you for a while!”

“Ugh, fine!” Jon hissed and let himself fall back onto his chair. Martin was lying if he said that he wasn't enjoying this. 

When Jon had started to stalk his coworkers, Martin – just like Tim and Sasha – had slowly started to keep his distance to Jon. All the care taking he had done after the Prentiss attack had stopped. He hadn’t forced Jon any longer to take breaks, to have a biscuit, or to leave work at sensible times. But bringing Jon to the hospital and making him eat proper food afterwards restored somewhat of a familiarity between the two. Not that there had been a great deal of it beforehand, but it was enough now for the lunch breaks to become a habit. 

Sasha and Tim never joined them. Tim was still too pissed at Jon, refusing to be longer than necessary in a room with him. And Sasha always went out to meet her new boyfriend during lunch. Martin missed having lunch with them, but a tiny selfish part of his brain was happy that for about an hour he could have Jon all to himself. 

While Martin always gladly picked up a sandwich, some chips, or some soup from the cantine Jon started to occasionally bring in his own, homemade lunch. Much to Martin’s surprise.

“I didn’t know you could cook?” he admitted. Jon had always been such a lanky, boney figure, who often neglected himself so much that the idea of him being able to actually cook felt ridiculous even to just consider. 

“My grandmother taught me how to,” Jon replied and dipped his spoon into the Dal he had brought in. “I don’t do it often. Mainly for a lack of time. But someone,” he said teasingly with a pointed glare at Martin, “keeps insisting that I leave the archive at 8pm the latest.” 

“You’re welcome,” Martin grinned. It was nice to see Jon like this. To see him not occupied with work, to hear him ramble on about the most random topics in so much depth. Martin had to use his utmost self restraint not to reach over the table to pull Jon into a kiss when he got all passionate like this. Their lunches were not making it easy to deal with his crush on Jon. 

It got so much worse when one day Jon suddenly stopped Martin from getting up to go buy a sandwich. Instead he sheepishly put down a tupperware container in front of Martin. Inside was one of Jon’s homemade currys and a waft of cummin, pepper and a hint of cinnamon hit Martin. It smelled delicious. He gave Jon a puzzled look. 

“I’ve made too much last night,” he simply said, unable to meet Martin’s eyes and Martin felt himself choke on air. 

“Cool, thanks,” was all he was able to whisper, glad Jon wasn’t looking at him because Martin could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks. 

The curry was delicious, but also so spicy that tears formed in Martin’s eyes, much to Jon’s amusement. “I’ll make it milder next time,” he promised and Martin’s heart leapt.  _ Next time.  _

**********

Jon hated to admit it, but he started to really enjoy Martin’s company. Originally, he had just agreed to their lunch meetups trying to find out what Martin was lying about. But as the weeks passed he found himself looking forward to them. Usually it was Martin who around lunch time would come to Jon’s office, knocking on his door asking if he was ready for lunch. Jon would usually (fake) sigh, before nodding and getting up. 

Today was different. As the hand of his clock edged closer to half twelve Jon mentally prepared to hear Martin’s fist knock against his door. He tried to ignore the weird tingling in his stomach. He was probably just really hungry today. But then nothing happened. There was no knocking. Jon gave his watch an irritated glance. Maybe Martin was just running a bit late, he thought and tried to get back to work. Which actually proved more difficult because the more time passed the more Jon realized that he was actually hungry. When Martin still had not showed up after an hour, Jon got up and walked over to the assistants’ office. He tried not to rush, but in the back of his mind was the flickering image of Martin’s dead body, worms crawling all over him. Jon knew it was a stupid thought, but it was hard to shake. 

With relief he found that Martin was simply, deeply engrossed in his work. Thankfully Tim and Sasha weren’t in the office. It was just Martin, sitting in a pile of books and statements, his face focused, his fingers covered in ink from writing down notes eagerly. He was muttering to himself, it was almost endearing. Jon quickly pushed that thought away. It was about time that Martin got a better worth ethic. 

Jon cleared his throat and Martin’s head shot up. When he saw that it was Jon his concentrated frown turned into a pleasant smile. The odd turmoil in Jon’s stomach returned. 

“Uhm….lunch?” was all he managed to say. He really needed food. Martin’s smile grew wider. 

“Sure.” 

It was also nice to have one co-worker who didn’t hate his guts. Tim and Sasha both distanced themselves more and more from Jon. He couldn't blame them. Jon would probably also not like it if Elias suddenly started to accuse him of murder and started to lurk around his house in the middle of the night taking pictures. Jon knew that what he was doing was wrong. But then again Tim or Sasha could have actually killed Gertude. He couldn’t trust them. He was really glad that he had Martin. The letter confessing that Martin was lying to Jon was almost forgotten. Almost. 

Until Jon opened the second statement of Trevor Herbert. Trevor Herbert who was supposed to be dead. Trevor Herbert, who according to Martin had died in the institute after his first statement. And yet, here it was black ink on white paper. A second statement. 

A sour taste formed on Jon’s tongue. Martin had lied to him. Again. Jon couldn’t trust Martin. Jon could trust no one. And it hurt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments/kudos, they really make my day and keep me inspired to keep writing.   
> Also will we ever know why Jon is so secretive about his soulmate mark? Who knows? 
> 
> I hope to get the next chapter out by Friday, it's taking a bit longer since I just moved and there is just so much to do. 
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from   
> [Landmarks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uQk-Ohgm2hE) by All the Luck in the World


	7. Always feels like there is danger at the door

Martin had been doing some follow up research on the statement of Jordan Kennedy and his work in pest control when Jon had burst in and dragged him down into his office. 

“Sit,” he hissed and Martin was reminded of the one time he had gotten detention and had been send to the principal's office. Only that his principal had never accused Martin of lying.

“Why did you lie to me about Trevor?”

“Sorry, who’s… who’s Trev–” tried to ask but Jon interrupted him.

“ _Trevor Herbert_. The tramp? The vampire hunter. You told me he died!” Jon was standing behind his desk glaring at Martin with such a burning stare it almost physically hurt. Martin tried to think. He remembered the weird vampire hunter. Or at least what he had heard from the other researchers in the library. Martin was pretty sure they had told him that Trevor had died. 

“But I mean he… did. Didn’t he?” he asked, cautious not to anger Jon anymore. Unfortunately he failed. 

“Apparently not!” Jon snarled, his fists were clenched. 

“I mean I never met him! It’s just what I have been told from others. I really thought he was dead.” Martin’s voice was shaking. He really did not enjoy this conversation. 

“So that’s it. Just a misunderstanding,” Jon didn’t yell. His voice was quiet and filled with so much venom that fear started to creep into Martin’s bones. He had no idea what was going on, but apparently Jon was at the brink of a breakdown.

Who cared if Trevor Herbert had died or not. So Martin had gotten a rumor wrong, that was no reason for Jon to react so harshly.

“You seem to be taking this kind of personal–,” he stammered. One look at Jon and he knew he had made a mistake. 

“Because you keep lying to me!” Jon yelled and Martin started to feel sick. Fuck, did Jon know? Still Martin tried to save himself. 

“About what?” he tried to ask as innocently as he possibly could.

“I don’t know. But you are,” Jon growled and put a wrinkled piece of paper down in front of Martin. 

Martin froze. Right in front of him was what was undoubtedly a letter written to his mother. Not that he ever sent them. Why did Jon have one of his letters?

“Where did you get that? Have you been going through the bin?” Martin felt anger to start rising up in him. Was Jon now stalking him too? Was Tim not enough as a murder suspect.

“It was in the old document room, just next to where you used to sleep. Your handwriting. ‘If the others find out I’ve been lying’ – lying about _what_ , Martin?”

 _Oh._ Oh no. If Jon found out he would be upset. More upset than he already was. He would fire Martin and Martin couldn’t get fired. He barely got on as it was, he needed this job. His mother needed him to have this job. 

“Look, just forget about it, okay? Please,” he begged. But the way Jon’s eyes were burning with anger Martin knew that Jon would not _just forget about it._

“I _can’t_ forget it. Everyone in this place has so many goddamn secrets and I can’t trust a word you say. Not about this and not about Trevor –” Jon was clearly having some sort of mental breakdown. If Martin managed to calm him down, maybe Martin wouldn’t have to tell Jon the truth. 

“John, just–,” he tried. 

Jon slammed his fist on the table. “MARTIN!” he screamed. Martin had never seen him so angry. He could feel his heart beating up to his throat. There was no way Martin would get out of this. 

“Okay! Okay! Okay. Just… just… promise you won’t… fire me. Or tell Elias.” 

And then he told Jon everything. About how he had to drop out of school, how he had no degree, how no one would hire him. How he eventually had lied on his CV and surprisingly had gotten a job here. “I’m only 29,” he ended his confession, head hanging low. That was it then. It was over for him. Jon would be just more upset, drag him to Elias, fire him and both would make sure Martin would never find work in London ever again. 

To his surprise Jon started to chuckle. If Martin hadn’t been already convinced that Jon was having a mental breakdown this was proof enough. Martin mentally prepared himself for more yelling, but none came. 

Instead Jon’s voice went weirdly soft. “Right, I–I… uh… I believe you,” he said and smiled at Martin. 

“…why are you smiling?” The 180 degree turn around from foaming at the mouth to smiling like that was extremely unsettling.

“To be quite honest, Martin, I’m really rather relieved,” Jon exhaled and Martin was wondering what Jon had originally thought Martin had been lying about. “And I won’t mention it to Elias.” Martin just nodded. He struggled to process the fact that he wasn’t actually going to get fired. He was too emotionally exhausted. Jon seemed exhausted too, but his lips still formed that weird, soft smile. 

Jon’s smile almost made up for his outburst. It turned Jon’s face so gentle like Martin had never seen it before. It was beautiful. If Martin had not been so hurt right now he would have wished Jon more reasons to smile.

But Martin’s heart was still beating so fast that it ached. He was so proud of himself that he hadn’t started crying when Jon had yelled at him, but now he could feel the water collecting in the corners of his eyes. Jon seemed to notice that too. The relieved smile faded from his face as he realized what he had done. 

“Shit, Martin I am sorry,” he said and Martin struggled even more to hold his tears back. “I didn’t mean to–… I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” 

“It’s oka–,” Martin tried to say but Jon interrupted him. 

“No, it’s not okay Martin. It’s really not,” he inhaled sharply. “I am sorry. For yelling at you, and for treating you badly. And constantly criticizing you. You know given that you don’t have a degree your research has been actually really good. I never would have suspected you didn’t even finish your A levels.” Martin blushed. Jon had put his hand on Martin’s shoulder and given it a gentle squeeze. Martin had never in his life been more aware of the nerves in his shoulder. His skin tingled, almost burned. 

“And I’m sorry for being a dick really. You know I tried to be nicer and instead I just got worse,” Jon laughed a hollow laugh. 

Martin swallowed. He had not expected this. Sure he and Jon had grown somewhat closer after the Prentiss attack and during their lunches. Well if he ignored Jon’s constant paranoia and his stalking. And sure you could probably call them friends, but Martin would have never thought that Jon would apologize. Jon was stubborn and hated feelings, and yet he had felt guilty enough to apologize. Martin knew his bar was low, but given Jon’s personality this was huge. Jon, who was currently staring intensely at his own shoes, avoiding Martin’s eyes. He had taken his hand again off Martin, and Martin wished for nothing more than Jon touching him again. 

“You were not really a dick,” Martin said and Jon looked up in surprise. “Just a bit of an asshole.” 

That made Jon chuckle and Martin felt his traitor of a heart flutter. 

“I’ll take that,” he said and actually gave Martin a genuine smile. “Do you...uhm do you still want to have lunch? I know home made biryani is not gonna make up for all my shitty behaviour, and I’ve already made extra for you so it’s not even much of a gesture, but–”

“Lunch would be lovely,” Martin stopped him. He didn’t know if he was able to handle any more of guilt ridden, stammering Jon. All he wanted was to sit down, press his fingers around a hot cup of tea and eat Jon’s home made food.

In the canteen Martin noticed that Jon’s hand was bleeding again. When he had hit the table forcefully one of his seams must have burst open. 

“You should go to the hospital again,” he pointed at Jon’s hand with his fork. 

“I’m fine,” Jon tried to ensure him. “Plus if I go I will just have to hear over and over again how I was lucky that my mark didn’t get cut,” he said, staring upset at his rice, as if it had been the rice that had cut him. 

“I mean you _were_ lucky.” 

“So I keep getting told,” there was acidity in Jon’s voice but it wasn’t directed at Martin. Martin felt safe enough to continue probing. 

“What is it with you and soulmates?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why do you hate soulmates so much,” Martin replied. “Every time there is a statement where a soulmate is mentioned you just groan and then make a comment along the lines of them being...being stupid for being in love! Not to mention that you keep your mark hidden as if it was a vital vulnerability.” 

Jon sighed. He clearly wasn’t thrilled about having to answer that question. Martin was about to tell him to forget it, it wasn’t any of his business, when Jon started to speak.

“I don’t hate them. I just think it’s stupid how people are obsessed with them,” he said. “And how everyone’s brain stops working once they meet their soulmate.” 

Martin snorted. Of course Jon would equate being in love with being stupid. 

“And once you have found them I assume you’ll long, you worry, you care, you–…”

“Feel emotions?” Martin suggested with a smirk. 

“Yes, _that_.” Jon hesitated. Martin had the feeling that there was more he wanted to say, though Martin clearly had probed him enough. But Jon decided to share on his own.

“Also when I was younger I thought,” Jon struggled to speak. “Well I thought that because...the whole...I...you know how I am asexual?” Jon was examining his plate very thoroughly while speaking, as if his words were lying hidden between the brown grains of rice. 

Martin nodded. Jon had mentioned it briefly during his surprise birthday party. They all had gotten a bit tipsy and a bit silly and Tim had made a stupid joke about how they should have hired a stripper to jump out of the cake they had baked Jon. Sasha and Martin had laughed, but Jon had become very awkward, before admitting that he was rather glad they didn’t. Not because he minded sex workers, but because he was asexual and the thought of someone giving him a lapdance was enough to make him shake slightly. Fortunately, Tim had always been a master of diffusing tense situations and had simply laughed, “Wow they really don’t hire any straight people at this institute, do they?” They all had joined his laughter and Jon had relaxed. 

Now he was the very opposite of relaxed. His face was tense, one fist balled, the other one gripping his fork so strongly Martin was surprised it hadn’t snapped yet. 

“Well,” Jon continued his explanation, “when I was younger I thought that I was ‘broken’. Before I learned what asexuality was. And I was just convinced because I was ‘broken’ that not even a soulmate could love me. That’s why I’ve kept my mark hidden. If my soulmate can’t find me then I can’t disappoint them and they can’t hurt me.” 

_I love you,_ Martin wanted to scream.

“I mean I know better now, obviously,” Jon continued to stammer and finally looked up again. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, maybe even regret. “But I disliked soulmates for so long I don’t really know how to stop.” 

_I love you, I love you, I love you_ , Martin couldn’t stop thinking it. He wasn’t surprised by his feelings. Not really. Martin knew that he always fell too easily and too fast though it was the first time in a long time one of Martin’s crushes had developed past the initial crush stage. Crushes were easy in that sense since they did not get in the way of soulmates. As someone so fixated on finding his soulmate, Martin should have been worried about this development. He should have worried how he was going to explain to his soulmate that he was desperately in love with another man. 

However, all Martin cared about was how the man he had been crushing on for about a year had just taken responsibility for this past shitty behaviour and allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable around Martin. So of course Martin loved Jon, soulmate or not. And loving Jon was easy. Jon as a person might have been difficult, but loving him, loving him felt so natural. Like Martin had practised all his life to finally do it. _I love you._

*********

Jon didn’t know why he had opened up to Martin about his internalized acephobia. Of course by now Jon was well aware that his younger self had been wrong. That he was still loveable. Georgie had helped him a lot to come to this conclusion. If he _deserved_ love though, Jon was not so sure of.

Maybe he had told Martin because it was just easy to talk to Martin. Martin, who was always nice and patient and kind, no matter how irritated and grumpy Jon was. Martin who was now staring at him funny. After the day they had had Jon couldn’t blame Martin, but he still felt somewhat uncomfortable. Martin looked at him all soft and warm, even worse than he usually did. And Jon didn’t deserve to be looked at like that. Especially not after yelling at Martin like that. The feeling of guilt was spreading through his body like poison. And yet Martin kept looking at him like nothing had happened. 

“Anyways,” Jon cleared his throat and _Thank God_ Martin stopped staring. Instead Martin, as he did so often, blushed. 

“That’s why I requested Sasha and Tim as assistants. Since they have– you know no marks. At least proper ones,” Jon explained. 

Martin gave him a very puzzled look. 

“What?” 

“You mean Tim doesn’t have a mark,” he said. 

“Yeah, okay. Sasha has technically a mark, but it’s in gibberish so it doesn’t really count,” Jon admitted. Martin looked more and more confused by the second.

“What do you mean _gibberish_?” he asked. Now Jon was the one becoming confused. 

“Well gibberish. I mean have you seen it?”

“Yes, of course I have.”  
  


“Well then you know that it’s not written in any known language,” Jon was slowly losing his patients. Why was Martin so adamant about Sasha’s mark? 

“Jon,” Martin’s voice was worried and hushed, like he was speaking to a wounded deer. “Sasha’s tattoo is written in English. Latin alphabet. It says _I see you. Show yourself!”_

Jon felt his insides grow cold. Was Martin pulling a prank? But Martin’s face looked far too serious and worried for it to be a prank. Jon also knew that Martin loved the concept of soulmates so much that he would never misremember someone’s mark. Could it be that Jon himself was wrong? 

No, he clearly remembered he only allowed Tim and Sasha to approach him because they _both_ didn’t care about the whole soulmate shablam. He remembered Sasha making a joke about aliens. He remembered the odd symbols on her wrist. He also remembered Michael’s warning very clearly. Jon had a bad feeling. 

“Jon?” Martin sounded very worried. 

“Do you have a picture of Sasha?” Jon asked suddenly. 

“What so you can pin it to your suspects wall and make her upset with you too?” 

Then he remembered. 

“Come, hurry,” he exclaimed before jumping up and storming out of the canteen. 

“Jon, what the–?” he heard Martin yell behind him, but Jon didn’t stop to explain. He ran through the hall, past the library, down the stairs of the archive and into his office. He stopped in front of his desk to catch his breath quickly, before he started to pull out the drawers. 

He had totally forgotten about it. It had to be here somewhere though. He was sure. 

“Jon?” Martin had arrived at his office. “What the hell?” he demanded to know while trying to steady his breathing. Jon didn’t bother explaining. Instead he dug deeper and deeper into his drawer until his fingers met with a thin sheet made out of film. 

“Aha!” Triumphant, he pulled out the old polaroid picture that they had taken during his birthday surprise party.

“Great, you have a photo of Sasha for your stalker wall,” Martin spat but Jon ignored him. His eyes were fixed on the picture, his stomach sinking. He had hoped that he had been wrong. That it just had been his own paranoia. Unfortunately he had been right. He handed the picture to Martin. 

“What? What?” he asked, irritated, “Do you want me to pin it up? Because I–”

“Martin,” he interrupted the other man. “Look at the picture.” 

Martin looked down and the anger in his face changed to confusion. 

“I don’t understand?” he finally said. “Why...where…?”

“Do you remember the statement of Amy Patel and Graham Folger?” Jon asked. It took Martin a minute before he realized and he paled. His eyes wandered towards the wall behind which the assistants’ office was. 

“That’s not Sasha,” he croaked in disbelief. 

“I am afraid not.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum dum dum, just because no one dies, doesn’t mean no one gets hurt muahahaha (Sasha is my wife and I love her don’t worry too much folks).
> 
> As usual thanks for all the comments/kudos, as always feel free to leave some <3  
> Also raise your hand if you were emotionally murdered by Jonny Sims and episode 180 and are confused af. 
> 
> I technically didn’t want to post this before finishing chapter 8, but 8 is kicking my ass so here you go. Also I will probably move to weekly updates rather than bi-weekly ones soz. 
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [Bad Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3f4BRHwWGM) by Seafret. 
> 
> Episodes cited: *056 - Children of the Night


	8. Trying to find shapes resembling you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this chapter nearly destoryed me, but it is finally done. This is a long one, so maybe grab a snack or a cup of tea. Enjoy :)

Jon was leaning against his desk, his eyes following Martin, who paced up and down in his office. The motion was almost hypnotic, on any other day it might have been actually calming. But Jon and Martin both were far removed from calm. 

“We need to tell Tim.” Martin said finally, coming to a halt and looking directly at Jon. 

“I’ll doubt he’ll believe us.” _I barely believe us_ , Jon added in thought. 

“So what are we gonna do? “

“We could destroy the table?” Jon suggested. The thing was clearly linked to the weird table in artefact storage. Jon remembered how Sasha had mentioned running through there during the attack. And then he had caught her staring at it a few weeks later. Not to mention that it was definitely the same table that had been in Graham Folger’s flat. Clearly whatever had taken Sasha was connected to the table.

“And what if that hurts her? Or makes it worse somehow?” Martin, unfortunately, was right. They just didn’t know enough. Jon was surprised they had been able to figure out that Sasha was not Sasha in the first place. 

“I guess all we can do for now is pretend that we know nothing, that we think Sasha is still the same old Sasha. And then we research as much as we can about that...that thing before taking any action.” 

“You start to sound like Elias.”

“Do you have a better idea?” 

Martin sighed and let his head hang down. “No, you’re right.” He said before adding, “At least you can now stop your vendetta against Tim. It was probably not!Sasha who killed Gertrude.” 

“Sasha didn’t change until….until,” actually Jon didn’t have the slightest idea when Sasha had changed. He tried to remember, but none of his memories contained the woman from the polaroid. “She didn’t change until after Gertrude died. Also Gertrude was shot. Most likely by a human.” Jon paused again before speaking. “Which means that Tim still could have killed Gertrude!” 

Martin glared at Jon. It was nothing like the glare Martin would give Jon when Jon refused to take a break or eat something. It was the closest Jon had ever seen Martin be angry. The flush on Martin’s face was a dark red compared to his usual, sometimes quite charming, pink blush. His lips formed a thin line and he narrowed his eyes, intensifying his stare. Jon had to swallow, he decided he prefered Martin in a not angry state. He wanted to say something, but Martin already interrupted him.

“Jon! Listen to yourself! You could just as well argue that I killed Gertrude! Who knows maybe she found out I was lying on my CV, so I shot her!” There was an awkward silence.

“Oh my god you can’t be ser–”

“No, no I’m not–”

“You really think I’d kill her?” 

“I had considered it,” Jon admitted quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. “But only briefly! Look I wanted to trust you...I mean I do. Trust you.” Jon really meant it. He _did_ trust Martin. The fact that he had actually ever considered Martin to be a murderer filled him with shame. Martin sighed. 

“Don’t you think if Tim wanted to kill you, he could have easily done it down in the tunnels?” he asked. Jon considered the thought. Martin actually did have a point. If Tim wanted to kill Jon, he could have easily done it during the Prentiss attack. The thought of Tim dragging Jon through the tunnels, promising that they would make it out of there, only to push him into a horde of evil flesh worms made Jon shudder. Also Tim had no reason to kill him. Well _used to_ have no reason at least. Jon knew that he had brought on Tim's dislike of him all by himself. 

“I guess you are right,” he admitted begrudgingly. Martin’s face relaxed and a smile formed on his lips.

“Good, then we can tell him!” 

“Martin,” Jon groaned. 

“Jon,” Martin parroted him. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll tell him,” Jon knew there was no point in arguing. And Martin was right they would have to tell Tim. Eventually. 

“But we need more information first. One polaroid is hardly going to be enough proof.” Martin at least seemed to agree with that. 

Slowly the documents, files and pictures of Tim were replaced with statements and research and Jon’s stalker wall – as Martin had called it – turned into a wall about the not!them and Sasha. 

Of course they had to hide their research from Sasha and Tim. So Jon’s late night paranoia stalking sessions turned into late night, after hours, secret research sessions. During the day, both he and Martin would do their normal archive work, record statements, follow up leads, and try to sort the archive. But then around 5pm Martin would leave with the other two, so that they wouldn’t get suspicious, then pick up some take away for dinner and return to Jon’s office. 

Jon caught himself thinking that it felt an awful lot like they were two teenagers sneaking around for date night. Not that Jon had ever snuck around as a teen, and he didn’t think that teenagers would research horrible, killer monsters on their dates. But still the secret glances during the day, the hastily written text messages when Sasha or Tim had stayed longer than planned in the archives, the late night conversations over cheap pizza. Jon quickly pushed the thought as far away as humanly possible, and then even a bit further just to make sure it was well hidden and unable to resurface any time soon.

Which was harder than expected, especially when Martin did something ~~endearing~~... ~~adorable~~ …. _god damn it_ , something that was such a typical Martin thing to do. Like bringing red yarn into the office for the not!them wall. Jon spotted the ball of yarn sitting at the bottom of Martin’s bag after Martin had taken out their take out containers (it was Pad thai tonight). 

“I appreciate your passion, Martin, I really do,” Jon said with a little grin he couldn’t help. “But don’t you think that a red thread is a bit _too_ cliche?” 

“Huh?” Martin looked up from his food, taking a moment to realize what Jon was referring to. 

“Oh,” he laughed sheepishly, “that...uhm that isn’t for the wall. I just picked it up before getting food. It’s...uhm….it’s for a scarf I’m knitting.” 

“You knit?” Jon didn’t even know why he sounded so surprised. Martin was exactly the kind of person who would knit. With his cozy jumpers he was always wearing, his obsession with making everyone tea, the way he just radiated comfort, it only really made sense that Martin knitted. Yet Jon wanted Martin to tell him about it, to let Jon see more of who Martin was outside of work. Despite their constant lunches, Jon knew embarrassingly little about Martin, since Martin was a master in holding an interesting conversation without sharing really a single personal detail. 

“Uhm...yes, I do.” Martin said. “It’s calming and also helps me focus better.” Then he quietly turned back to his food.

“So how long have you been knitting?” Jon asked awkwardly, not willing to let their conversation die just yet. 

Martin looked up from his food, giving Jon a quizzical look. They very rarely talked about things that were not relevant to their work, even during their lunch meetups they had always been rather institute focused with their chats. But Jon wanted to know more, he needed to know more, he craved for Martin to talk more. 

“Since I was about 10,” Martin replied hesitantly. “Learned from my arts teacher. My mum used to knit, but she didn’t….didn’t want to teach me. Probably too busy.” Martin swallowed and fell silent again. He had mentioned his mother only a few times. Jon knew that she had gotten sick when Martin had been very young, that he had cared for her and that she now was in a care home. Martin never spoke badly of his mother, rather the opposite. But the way he looked like a fallen apart porcelain doll, badly held together by cheap sellotape after returning from visiting her, made Jon dislike the woman very much. 

“And do you knit scarfs a lot?” Jon quickly asked.

“Mainly scarfs, yes, though sometimes hats, once a jumper and I even knitted some yellow gloves once for Sasha, because she–” and then Martin realized what he had just said, both he and Jon fell silent again. Jon knew exactly what gloves Martin was speaking of. He had seen not!Sasha wearing them only a few days ago. It angered him, they were a gift for the real Sasha, how dared the imposter wear them.

“You know I still can’t remember her,” Martin broke the silence. Jon looked up. “Even after we have been researching the not!them over and over, and we have her picture and her voice. I don’t remember her. I close my eyes and all I see is…” 

“The not!them,” Jon finished Martin’s sentence. “I feel the same.”

“Makes me almost glad Tim, Sasha and I stopped having lunch together,” Martin said weakly. Jon knew that every time the fake Sasha talked to Martin, touched him, was near him, it took all of Martin’s strength not to flinch back and recoil. Jon sympathized. While he had never joined his assistants on their lunch break, he had been aware of how close they had used to be. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. Martin just gave him a puzzled look. 

“It’s not your fault,” Martin said, but Jon silently disagreed. Maybe it wasn’t his fault that Sasha had been taken by the not!them. But he definitely was at fault for driving Tim and Martin apart. Jon had invaded Tim’s privacy, lost his trust and instead of letting Martin side with Tim, supporting his friend, Jon had dragged Martin away into this whole mess.

Jon knew he should apologize, but even with Martin’s good influence it was hard to shake the last bits of paranoia. Mainly since there was a monster among them who’s sole purpose was to make you question everything. But he told himself he would do it soon. And while Jon had always seen Tim more of a close acquaintance than a friend, he couldn’t help but admit that he too, missed Tim. 

Back in their research days they always would consult each other, go on smoke breaks together (god, Jon could have really done with a cigarette right now, but he knew what kind of look Martin would give him), and Tim would crack his punny jokes and casually touch Jon’s arm. Now Tim just scowled at Jon, if he acknowledged him even in the first place. Jon tried to snap out of it. There was no point in fretting over it right now. There were more important things. All Jon could hope to do was not to antagonize Tim even more against him or Martin. 

Unfortunately, it was that exact moment that Tim walked into Jon’s office. 

“Left my wallet, you’ve got the keys to the assistants’ offic–….Martin? What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Jon was a miserable liar and he knew it. He blamed it on his grandmother, who had always drilled into him to tell the truth. Fortunately, Martin didn’t have the same struggle. 

“Case work,” he said calmly. “Elias called down as I was about to leave. He said he had a new case regarding the Leitner library and that it was of _‘utmost priority’_. Apparently this one has affected one of the Lukas family and you know how Elias is about them.” Jon was incredibly impressed. While Tim seemed to buy the lie, he still looked very upset. 

“I see.” He said before adding, “Can I talk to you outside real quick?” Tim’s intonation stayed flat, communicating very clearly that Martin did not have much of a choice. 

“Sure,” Martin said and got up. “I’ll be right back,” he added and gave Jon a look that said _don’t worry, I’ve got this_. 

After Tim and Martin had left his office Jon waited a few seconds before he got up and pressed his ear against the very thin wall. It was a stupid idea, especially since Tim could just burst back into his office at any point. But even though Jon knew that Martin was an excellent liar, he was still worried Martin would not be able to keep Tim from finding out about Sasha. 

“....and he has been stalking us, thinking we murdered Gertrude and you what? Decided to help him with his case work? You helping him with his stalking too? I can’t believe you would do that to Sasha and me!” Jon heard Tim snarl, the betrayal coating his words thickly. 

“I am helping him with the case to keep his _trust_. Of course I am not helping him stalk you! I’d never do that!” Martin hesitated. Jon worried for a second that Martin would tell Tim the truth about Sasha but then Martin continued. 

“I am only _pretending_ to help him with his stalking. I’m actually sabotaging him a bit, keeping him at bay, stopping him from going totally mad archivist in the basement.” Jon needed to remind himself that Martin was not actually doing all that, especially since Jon had stopped stalking Tim. But Martin was such a good liar it was easy to forget sometimes. There was a silence on the other side of the wall and Jon desperately wanted to know what Tim was thinking. 

“Just, don’t let your feelings for him get in the way, okay?” On the other side of the wall Jon choked. Clearly he must have had misheard Tim. There was no way Martin had–

“Keep it down would you, Tim!” Martin hissed. “Look no matter how much I lo–...like Jon, I would never join his stalking activities. I care too much about you and Sasha for that and no crush can change that.” 

Jon continued to have trouble breathing, just as he had trouble processing even a single thought. He heard how there were steps walking away from the office, which meant that Tim was leaving. And that Matin would be back in the office any moment. Panic was rising in Jon. He didn’t know what to do with his face. Frown? Smile? Keep it neutral? How the hell did his face usually look? Jon was falling apart. He saw how the door handle was slowly pushed down and he knew he was mere seconds away from facing Martin. Overwhelmed as he was, Jon felt that the only logical thing to do was to jump under the table and hide his face.

“Jon?”

“Under here, I dropped my pen,” Jon lied, trying his best to look like he was actually searching instead of stalling. Fortunately, one of the pens had rolled off the table as Jon had crawled under it, so Martin wouldn’t be able to call Jon’s bluff. 

“Oh, I see it,” Martin said and to Jon’s horror he heard Martin drop to his knees, his shock of ginger curls popping up in front of Jon seconds later. Instinctively, Jon reached for the pen with the goal to scramble as far away from Martin as quickly as possible. At the same time Martin lifted his arm to pick up the pen as well. His hand landed on top of Jon’s. 

“Sorry,” Martin squeaked and instantly pulled his hand away as if touching Jon had burned him. Jon would have been hurt if the back of his hand did not also feel like flames were dancing over his skin. It didn’t help that their faces were only a few inches apart and Martin suddenly caught Jon’s eyes. The burning in Jon’s hand spread to his cheeks and Martin’s face spotted an oh so familiar blush. Hastily both of them tried to get up, which only resulted in Jon banging his head against the table. 

“Ouch!” he cursed and reflexively rubbed the back of his head with his hand. He couldn't feel anything wet, so at least he was not bleeding. Still it hurt stupidly. 

“Are you okay?” Jon had never been so happy that there was a desk between him and Martin, because Jon knew Martin was about to reach out and check Jon’s head himself. 

“Fine, I’m fine,” he murmured, one hand raised to keep Martin where he was, the other one clutching his head.

“I think we should probably call it a day anyways,” Jon said, still not knowing what to do with his face, or what to say, or how to breathe properly. He couldn’t be around Martin right now, he needed to think, needed to process. Martin seemed surprised. 

“Calling it a day before 9pm? Who are you and what have you done to Jonathan Sims?” he teased. 

Jon had never been so glad that his dark skin usually managed to hide his blushes quite well, because he could feel the already quite strong burning in his cheeks increase. 

“Just think we deserve a bit of rest,” he mumbled, avoiding Martin’s eyes. Martin raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. 

“Also I’m sorry you had to lie to Tim,” Jon said. He didn’t need to look at Martin to feel the sadness Martin was carrying within himself. 

“We are going to tell him soon, I promise!” Jon said and he meant it. Martin gave him a little nod, but there was still sorrow in his eyes. While Martin was good at lying, Jon knew that Martin was not the person to enjoy doing it. Jon wanted to add something, to say anything really, but he was still too overwhelmed to find any words. So instead he and Martin just packed up their things and left in silence. 

Jon made the decision to ignore the fact that Martin apparently had feelings for him. It had not impacted their work so far, so there was no need for that to change. And their work was too important to jeopardize Sasha’s life by addressing the issue. Not that Jon would even know how to address it. _Hey, I heard you have a crush on me, I’m really sorry that’s quite unfortunate_ , was maybe not the most sensitive thing to say. It also did not make any sense to Jon. How could Martin possibly have a crush on him? The idea that Martin could like him that way seemed impossible, if Jon had not heard it himself. Also there was the problem that technically Jon was Martin’s superior so pursuing a relationship would certainly be quite the HR nightmare. Not that Jon was thinking about dating Martin. The tingling in his stomach seemed to disagree, but Jon ignored the feeling. No, the best thing to do was just to forget about Tim and Martin’s conversation and to repress any thought or feeling regarding the matter.

While coming to that conclusion Jon deliberately avoided thinking about how Martin had spoken the words on Jon’s wrist. The fact that Martin had a crush on Jon was already complicated enough, Jon couldn’t allow himself to bring soulmates into the whole equation. Plus if he and Martin had actually been soulmates then Martin would probably not just have a crush on him. And Tim would have said something along the lines of _don’t let being soulmates with Jon get in the way._ Still best not to think about it at all. Feelings could easily be denied, soulmates were a lot harder. 

*********

The last bit of proof they needed unexpectedly showed up in the form of Melanie King. While she and Jon had originally had have a rough start – Jon, ever being the sceptic and in a ‘high brow’ academic profession, and Melanie, hot headed and proud in her job as an entertainer, had been tinder that didn’t need much of a spark – their second meeting proceeded a lot more civil. Melanie was pleasantly surprised that Jon believed her and without any complaint promised her to vouch for her so she could use the institute's library. Of course Martin bringing Melanie tea at the end of her statement helped smooth things over between Melanie and the archives too. 

It had become a routine that when statement givers actually showed up in person, Martin would guide them out of Jon’s office and offer them a cup of tea. While Jon had become a lot better with taking live statements he still got easily upset about the lack of concrete information or leads to follow up most statement givers provided. And Martin offering the statement givers tea and a chat had definitely led to a decrease in complaints launched against Jon. 

So naturally, after her statement was finished Martin walked into the office holding a cup of tea for Melanie and one for Jon. It was then that Melanie revealed herself as the last missing piece of the puzzle that was the evidence Jon and Martin had collected against the not!them. 

“Thanks, Martin,” Melanie said with a smile and gingerly took the cup of tea from his hands. From giving his own statement Martin knew how beat the experience could leave one. Martin turned around to leave Jon’s office when Melanie spoke again. 

“By the way, what happened to your other assistant?” she asked, mug resting against her bottom lip. 

“Tim is currently up in the library I believe,” Jon said. 

“No, your other assistant, Sasha?” 

Martin stopped cold in his tracks and turned around to see Jon pale. Sasha, well not!Sasha, had been in the assistants office with Martin when Melanie had come in. 

“She is just in the assistants’ office next door,” Jon said, studying Melanie’s face carefully. 

“She was? I only saw your new assistant and Martin,” she pointed her head quickly towards Martin before catching the worried look Jon and Martin were exchanging. 

“What? You guys look like I just told you I saw a ghost,” she laughed. 

“Melanie, this is very important!” Jon said sternly, “Are you telling us that the woman you saw in the other office was not Sasha?” Confusion was starting to cover Melanie’s face. 

“I mean yes?” Melanie’s brows furrowed and she kept looking back and forth between Martin and Jon. “Your new assistant is a relatively small, blonde white woman. And Sasha, last time I checked, was even taller than Martin, had dark long curls and was black? What is this some sort of weird test? Are you trying to prank me?” Her tone shifted from confusion to anger.

Jon and Martin ignored her question. 

“Should we tell–…”

“Yes!” Jon interrupted Martin. 

They had the polaroid, they had tapes with Sasha’s real voice (courtesy of Basira), and they had Melanie’s word. Martin wasn’t sure it would be enough to convince Tim but they didn’t have any other choice, they couldn’t wait any longer. The longer they waited the more the real Sasha could be in danger. 

“Martin, you get Tim. I’ll fill Melanie in and we’ll meet you in the artefact storage,” Jon told Martin, already grabbing their big master file of information on the not!them. “And make sure _it_ doesn’t see you.” Martin nodded and went to find Tim. 

Tim was, just like Jon had assumed, in the library, hiding behind a massive stack of books. Martin wasn’t sure how many of the books were for actual case research and how many were there to shield Tim. But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that he got Tim into artefact storage. 

“Tim,” Martin approached him.

“Go away, Martin” Tim replied without looking up from his book.

“This is urgent,” Martin continued. “I need you to come to artefact storage with me.”

“Tough luck,” was all Tim had to say to that. Martin groaned internaley. 

“Tim, I _need you_ to come with me to the artefact storage, _now_ ,” Martin insisted and Tim finally looked up, a worried crease forming on his forehead. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked. 

“I’ll explain in artefact storage, please,” Martin replied. Tim hesitated for a moment before shrugging with his shoulders and getting up. Fortunately, they managed to make it to the artefact storage room without running into the not!Sasha. Still the moment Tim spotted Jon, he was about to walk away. 

“Hell no,” he said, and tried to get past Martin who was blocking the door. “I don’t know what kind of fucked up thing the two of you have going on, or why Melanie King is here, but I’m not going to be part of this!”

“Tim, please wait,” Martin pleaded, pushing Tim back towards Jon. “We need to talk to you!” But Tim didn’t want to hear it. He once again tried to push past Martin, but Martin just grabbed him as tightly as he could without hurting him. 

“Tim, please, it’s about Sasha,” the moment Jon had mentioned Sasha, Tim’s body went limp in Martin’s arms. Martin felt like it was safe to let go of Tim. 

Tim slowly turned around until he was facing Jon, Martin couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the anger radiating from him. 

“What about her? Are you now convinced that _she_ is the one who killed Gerturde and are trying to rope me into your schemes the way you roped Martin in?” he spat. 

Jon looked at the floor, one hand nervously rubbing over the back of his neck. 

“Not quite,” he said before he and Martin started to explain everything. Melanie said quietly on a chair next to them, waiting for her turn to confirm their story. Tim’s face changed from anger to concern, to disbelief. 

“And you expect me to just believe you?” Tim said once they were finished, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Martin and Jon exchanged a look before Jon handed over the file filled with cases about the not!them, the weird table, and of course the polaroid. While Tim was going through the file, his face slowly beginning to fall, Jon gave Melanie an encouraging nod. 

“It’s true Tim,” she said softly, getting up from the chair she had been sitting on and carefully stepping towards him. “I remember Sasha. The real Sasha. The one from the polaroid.” 

Tim looked up from the file. His face was ashen, the expression in his eyes intelligible. 

“It can’t be,” he swallowed. 

“Oh but it ca-ha-an,” a singsong came from behind them, making Martin jump. _Fuck_. 

As he turned around he could see the not!Sasha slowly stepping out of the shade, coming forth behind two shelves full of cursed artefacts. She had found them after all. There was something unnerving about her face. The eyes suddenly seemed darker, empty. Not!Sasha’s skin was a lot paler, its cheekbones sticking out further than usual. It almost looked like the not!Sasha was caving into itself. Like it was just stressed skin wrapped around empty hollowness. 

Standing the closest to it, Martin was paralized, his heart pounding. The not!Sasha shot him a smile with too many teeth showing. Martin almost didn’t realize that a hand was wrapping around his wrist, until Jon slowly and carefully pulled Martin back. Under normal circumstances Jon essentially holding Martin’s hand would have put Martin in the worst state of fluster. But given that they were all facing a nightmare creature, all Martin felt was fear clawing itself through his body with an icy coldness. 

“What’s the matter guys?” the not!Sasha continued to grin. “It’s just me, Sasha. Sweet, little, brave Sasha.” 

“Stand back!” Jon hissed, his grip tightening around Martin’s hand. 

“Aw, no longer fooling you, am I?” asked Not!Sasha mockingly. Jon continued to move backwards, leaving Melanie and Tim, who were standing behind them, no choice but to distance themselves from the not!Sasha. Not that they minded, Martin imagined. He was glad that Jon was pulling him with him, because Martin was not sure if his legs could move on his own. 

“Sasha,” a desperate whisper escaped Tim. 

“Yes, _beloved_?” it asked all innocently before adding with a laugh, “Oh wait she never got to call you that, did she? My bad.” 

“Who are you?” Tim hissed. 

“I am the thing that is gonna end you, I thought that was obvious.”

“Don’t you dare hurt them!” Jon’s voice was shaky, and Martin finally found the strength to entangle his fingers with Jon’s. 

“Oh I’m not gonna hurt you,” it laughed a hollow laugh. The worst thing was that in Martin’s mind this was still Sasha’s laugh. “I’m just gonna trap you, kill you and take over your identity. It’s quite painless if I work quickly,” it added and took another step towards them. 

Out of the corner of his eyes Martin suddenly spotted a big, yellow door. Had that door always been there? Jon started pushing them all backwards a lot more eagerly. Apparently he had seen the door too. 

“Michael?” Jon half asked, half cried in panic. 

“Need a hand Archivist?” a voice that made Martin’s toenails curl up, asked right behind them. 

“Oh, not fair,” the not!Sasha yelled and dashed forward. Martin was convinced that that was it. He pressed his eyes shut, expecting whatever pain the not!Sasha would inflict on him. Instead he suddenly felt a massive tug from behind and instead of the thin fingers of not!Sasha, it was the yellow door that slammed into his face. The not!Sasha nowhere in sight. 

When he turned around Jon let go of his hand, but before Martin could feel disappointment, Jon reached up, his fingers cupping Martin’s face.

“You okay?” he whispered concerned and Martin wanted to scream _no, not when you are touching me like this_. Instead he just gave a weak nod, incredibly relieved that in the dim lit space they had ended up in, his colossal blush was not that noticeable. Far too soon Jon withdrew his fingers from Martin and turned to the others. 

“Are you two alright?” he asked. Melanie let out a grumpy huff at the same time Tim spat, “not really.”

“What...uhm just happened?” Melanie asked the question that had been burning on Martin’s mind. 

“We went through the door that belongs to another creature called Michael,” Jon explained. 

“Wait, the Michael door that eats people?” Tim said. 

“Yes...uhm...that one,” Jon admitted nervously, avoiding looking at all of them. “I may have taken a bit of a gamble. It was that or the not!Sasha.” 

“Probably a good call, given that we are still alive?” Melanie said. “So where are we?”

Martin’s eyes had finally gotten used to the dim light and he took a look around. They were in a narrow tunnel not unlike the tunnels they had escaped through during the Prentiss attack. However, the walls of the tunnel were covered in empty bookshelves. The only source of light were a few torches hanging from the walls, making the tunnel seem more like a dungeon. 

“I think the tunnels under the institute,” Jon said after he had a quick look around himself. “We should try to find a way out and hope we don’t run into the not!them,” he added and started walking. The others followed him quickly, not keen on being left behind.

“There are tunnels under the institute?” Melanie asked, eyes wandering over the walls of the tunnel cautiously, wondering what might lurk behind the next corner. 

“Yes, but they usually lack the empty bookshelves and instead have lots of worms,” Tim said, his voice tense. Martin couldn’t blame him. Within the last 5 minutes Tim had found out that the person he was the closest too was an imposter, had almost been killed by said imposter, and had only managed to escape by running through a door belonging to a completely different but just as terrifying monster. Martin was barely holding it together himself, the fact that Tim had not broken down yet was a miracle. 

Martin had been so deep in thought that when everyone turned around the corner and abruptly stopped he had almost run into Jon. Confused Martin looked up to see why they had stopped, and then his breath stopped. They had entered a small room, that was filled even more with empty bookcases and in the middle of the room stood an old, strange man. Jon was spreading his arms, protectively trying to stand in front of them all. Was this old man another horror monster? 

“You are late,” the man noted. He was wearing black slacks, and a grey jumper that looked like it would fall off his shoulders any second if the man moved too fast. In his hand he was holding two books. He didn’t seem like a monster, but then again neither had Sasha. 

“And who the hell are you?” Jon demanded to know. A smug smile appeared on the old guy's face. 

“I am Jurgen Leitner, “ he said. “Welcome to my library.” 

Martin heard himself gasp, meanwhile both Jon’s and Tim’s jaws dropped and Melanie just looked confused. 

And then Jurgen Leitner started to explain. Martin tried to wrap his head around it, but it was all far too much information at once. Starting with the fact that Jurgen _fucking_ Leitner lived in the tunnles under the institute. Quickly followed by the existence of actual, supernatural entities, fear gods, and that he, Tim, and Jon had all been unknowingly serving one: The Eye. 

It was a lot to take in and it was horrible. 

The good news was that there was a way to save Sasha. The bad news was that saving Sasha depended on their ability to stop an entity called The Stranger, and it’s evil circus that was trying to destroy the world. When Leitner mentioned the circus, Martin could feel Tim tense up next to him. Out of reflex Martin gently put his hand on Tim’s arm but Tim just shrugged it off. 

“Okay, so if this...this Stranger has taken Sasha, how come I remember her?” Melanie asked. Leitner sighed. 

“This really isn’t important right n–,” 

“The hell it isn’t,” Jon snapped. Martin had never seen Jon so angry. Martin suddenly remembered that Jon, despite having played the sceptic when he started his work as head archivist, had always believed in the Leitner books, had always been scared of the Leitner books. Martin thought about all the harm they had caused, just because of this tiny, old, power hungry, selfish man, who refused to give them answers and anger started to grow in him too. 

“You remember her,” Leiter finally gave in, “because it wants you to. The Stranger takes great joy in the pain and confusion of the one person who remembers. Most of The Stranger’s actions are simply ‘for the fun of it’.”

“Is that why he changed her mark?” Tim asked quietly. Once again Martin had the urge to reach out and touch Tim, but he didn’t. 

“Yes, that and his obsession with skin,” Leitner confirmed. “However, most encounters with the entities leave marks on the skin,” he said and nodded towards Tim’s and Jon’s scars. “Or souls.”

“Sorry, they leave actual marks on our souls?” Martin squeaked. The thought was terrifying. “Like evil soulmates?” 

“Yes and no,” Leiter said. “It’s rather complicated and we don’t really have time fo–,”

And then everything happened far too fast. Suddenly the Not!Saha entered the tunnel, Jon screamed for them to run, Tim grabbed Martin’s arm to pull him along, right through Michael’s open yellow door that had magically manifested the moment they needed it. Martin stumbled through it, his lungs hurting and legs far too wobbly and then heard the door close behind him. In front of him were Melanie and Tim, who had still not let go of Martin’s wrist, still dragging him along. Martin threw a quick glance back, expecting to see Jon and Leitner, only to find nothing. 

“Guys, wait up!” he panted, holding his sides. Melanie and Tim stopped. 

“Martin, come on!” Tim said urgently, taking a few steps towards Martin, apparently unaware of the fact that Jon and Leitner were gone. 

“We lost Jon and Leitner,” Martin was still trying to catch his breath. He pointed behind himself where there was nothing but the endless darkness of Michael’s tunnels. At least they seemed to have lost not!Sasha too. 

“We should wait for them!” he said. 

“And wait for that thing to come and get us?” Melanie asked bitterly. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, her left foot impatiently tapping the hard, cold, stone floor of the tunnels 

“She is right, Martin,” Tim agreed with her. “We have better chances at finding Jon if we are alive.” He shot Martin a sympathetic look, before taking his wrist again. “Now come one, let’s go.” Reluctantly Martin let himself be dragged along. He knew that Tim and Melanie were unfortunately right. There wasn’t much point to wait for Jon and Leitner. Even if they entered Michael’s tunnels they would end up god knows where and just to wait for them would be useless. 

After what felt like hours they finally stumbled out of the tunnels back into the archives. Martin rushed into Jon’s office, hoping to find him there. Instead all there was, was the dead body of Jurgen Leitner lying on top of Jon’s desk. He was covered in his own blood, body bludgeoned to death, the murder weapon, a rusty pipe lying conveniently right next to him. There was no sign of Jon. 

After everything that had happened, all three of them were so shaken it didn’t even strike them as odd when the police showed up, despite none of them having called them. 

This time it wasn’t Basira though who led the case. It was a far more scary looking woman, her teeth bared when she introduced herself as Detective Daisy Tonner. Martin would have been scared of her, if he had not just met Jurgen Leitner and escaped another murderous eldritch monster who had pretended to be his friend for months. There was no use for Detective Tonner to try to intimidate Martin anyways, he had no idea where Jon was, and no matter how scary she seemed to be even if Martin had known where Jon was he wouldn’t have told her. 

Once the interrogation was done all three of them slumbed together on the couch in the break room. It had been a far too long day. 

“What did you tell them?” Martin couldn’t help but ask. He was already incredibly worried about Jon and the fact that it seemed like he was the number one suspect didn’t make it any easier. 

“Mainly just how we ended up here and that I barely knew Jon,” Melanie replied wearily. Martin would get up and offer to make her some tea, but he himself was too worn out to move. “But also that I don’t think he did it. I think that not!Sasha thing is definitely more capable of murder,” she added. Martin relaxed a bit. 

“I told them that Jon was a dick,” Tim said. “But not a murderer.” 

Martin was surprised. With Melanie he knew it could have gone either way, but he had honestly expected Tim to sell Jon out. 

“So you don’t think he did it?” 

Tim just shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Look I’m not Jon’s biggest fan at the moment. And I am very pissed that you two left me so long in the dark about Sasha. But I know Jon enough to confidently say that he is not a killer.” Martin winced. He would apologize to Tim. And hopefully have a long conversation, clear the air, save their friendship. He could not do this without Tim, especially since they had already lost Sasha. 

They all just sat there for a moment in silence until Melanie asked, “Do you think who ev– what ever got Leitner, also got Jon?” 

Martin looked at his wrist. He knew that he and Jon were not soulmates. He knew it was silly. But the fact that the three, black words were as prominent as ever on his wrist calmed Martin. It was ridiculous and there was no reason for it, but Martin knew that if Jon was dead he somehow would know. 

“No, I think he is okay,” he said more to himself than the others. “At least as okay as he can be.” Without looking at them Martin could sense that Melanie and Tim thought that he was delusional. But Martin didn’t care. 

“So what do we do now?” Tim asked.

“Sleep?” Melanie suggested. 

“We research how to stop the _Stranger_ as Leiter called it, we find out how we can get Sasha back! You’re welcome to join us, Melanie.” Martin decided. Melanie nodded, unable to hide the curiosity in her eyes. “And then we wait for Jon to return.”

Tim and Melanie gave him a pitied look. 

“He will come back!” Martin asserted. “I know it!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, no they didn't have to cut the webs around the table for the not!Sasha to attack them, this is an AU and I just didn't know how to have them attack the table and was like fuck it my fic, canon can eat me. 
> 
> Also *Points at chapter title* Clever isn't it :) 
> 
> Thanks so much everyone for your comments/kudos they helped me immensely when struggling through this chapter. As always feel free to leave some more.
> 
> Also I forgot to mention last time, but we are essentially half way through with this fic. I technically have 14 chapters planned but you'll never know how the muse strikes so it could turn into 13 or 15 we shall see.
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [Songbirds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0laYzPxXzI) by Ben Thornewill.


	9. You found me when I thought I was dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this author knows what a canon timeline is, she has simply chosen to ignore the order of events in season3. 
> 
> Also Tim might feel a bit OOC in this chapter, but that is because I refuse to let him go on a kayaking trip in this fic!
> 
> Good alternative title for this chapter could also be: everyone can have little a cry as a treat.

There was a spot on Gerogie’s kitchen counter, most likely pasta sauce, and no matter how hard Jon scrubbed, it wouldn’t disappear. Angrily, Jon pressed down his yellow sponge, circling the spot with force. Still, the spot refused to disappear and Jon hated the spot for it. The spot was ruining the entire kitchen, blinking and shining, the cleanest it had been in a long while. 

Georgie had told him that he didn’t need to clean, but other than distracting him, Jon felt like it was at least one way he could thank her. When he had shown up at her door a week prior, covered in blood, shaken, frightened, she had let him in without hesitation. She had told him he could stay as long as he needed to. 

And that offer had not even change after Jon had told her that he was probably wanted for murder. After he had gotten separated from the others, he and Leitner had tried to escape not!Sasha and had ended up back in Jon’s office. That was here Leitner had told him that Elias had been the one to kill Gertrude. Jon had been so overwhelmed, so shocked, that he had to leave and have a smoke. Shame, he had not smoked in almost two years. Upon returning he had found Leitener’s dead body and he had run.

Even though Jon was innocent, he had expected Georgie to kick him out at this point. Instead she had made him a cup of tea and had tentatively asked if he wanted to talk more about what had just happened. 

It had felt weird being on the other side of that question, being the one giving a statement for once. But it also had felt good to let it all out and share it with someone. 

To Jon’s surprise Georgie had believed him. All of it. 

She hadn’t been happy about it and she worried about him a lot, but she still had let him stay.

Well and now Jon was anger-cleaning Georgie’s kitchen because it kept the demons in his head at bay and gave him at least the illusion of having a little bit of control left. 

Earlier today another statement had arrived. The first time it had happened, Jon had tried his best to ignore it. But as soon as he had opened the envelope, his mouth had started reading, unable to stop. After he was done, the nausea that had pained him the past few days had disappeared. 

Jon knew that Elias was sending them. He didn’t know why, maybe to taunt Jon that he knew his whereabouts? Maybe as some absurd form of power play? The problem was, as much as Jon hated Elias, he still needed the statements. If he went too long without reading one his horrible nausea returned. 

Still, every time a new envelope showed up, Jon was filled with rage. That was why Georgie found him furiously cleaning her kitchen.

“Another statement?” she asked.

“Yup,” Jon replied without looking up from the bloody pasta sauce spot. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really!” 

Jon scrubbed with even more force, why would that stupid spot not fade. He was so upset he didn’t even notice how Georgie stepped right next to him, until she put her hand on his, stopping his motion. Jon looked up from the counter only to find her concerned eyes resting on his face. 

“Tea?” 

Jon sighed. 

“Yes, alright,” he lifted his hand from the sponge and let her move him to the sofa. “Tea please.” 

Slowly Jon sunk deeper and deeper into the couch while Georgie returned to the kitchen, turning on the kettle. The familiar sound of boiling water, the rummaging through the cupboard for the perfect mugs, and the crackle of the tea bags eased Jon slightly. The Admiral jumping up on the couch and curling up on Jon's lap helped too.

Once the tea was done, Georgie walked over to Jon and handed him a mug of tea. His thankful smile was replaced by a frown after having taken a sip. The tea tasted not bad, but it definitely tasted wrong. 

“What? I made it how you like it,” Georgie said, brows furrowed. “But not the way Martin makes your tea, huh?” She had been teasing Jon about Martin a lot since he had arrived. His own fault for mentioning Martin so often really. Though Jon felt like he was talking about Martin a normal amount. Still he could feel his face heat up.

“I find it adorable by the way,” Georgie chirped. 

“What?” 

“Your crush,” she giggled. “Haven’t seen you that smitten since uni.”

“I don’t have a crush,” Jon grumbled back. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Crushes were for silly people and teenagers, and Jon was neither of those.

“Right, you just like his tea, which apparently is ten times better than mine.”

Jon examined the sofa cushion with great interest, avoiding looking at Georgie. He hadn’t wanted to say it, but yes. Georgie was right. Her tea was nice, but it wasn’t Martin’s tea. A sigh escaped his lips thinking about Martin. 

It was stupid really. He had so many other things he should think about. For example, the fact that Elias had killed Gertrude at least according to Leiter. And that Elias probably had killed Leitner too and framed Jon for it.

Or how to stop an evil circus from ending the world. Not to mention that Jon had to somehow deal with the fact that he himself was slowly turning into the avatar of a fear god. Which came with an ability to compel the truth out of people and left him craving statements like air. 

And yet, despite all these pressing issues, every single of Jon’s thoughts wandered back to Martin. 

Martin, who was maybe still trapped in Michael’s corridors. Or hunted by the not!Sasha. Martin who had become such an essential part of Jon’s life, Martin who always cared way too much, and always looked out for Jon. Who made him tea. Martin who apparently liked him back and….oh. 

_Oh._

Martin, who liked him _back._ Despite its best efforts Jon’s brain had slipped up. It was really hard to be in denial about his repressed feelings when every part of Jon’s being ached for Martin. 

Jon was thinking about the way dimples formed on Martin’s freckled cheeks when he smiled and how deeply Jon wanted to kiss them, knowing how flustered Martin would become. Or the way Martin always carefully clasped his fingers around his mugs of tea, Jon imagined taking the mug out of Martin’s hand and interlinking Martin’s fingers with his own. 

Now that Jon had allowed himself to admit his feelings it was like he had opened a door in his mind that had always been groaning and bending under the weight of all the images of Martin that he had so truly tried to suppress for so long. But now they were flooding through Jon together with waves of emotions and the horrible pain of longing.

So yes, Jon liked Martin and he missed him dearly and it was unbearable. 

But before Jon could sink deeper into the comfort that were his now unrepressed feelings for Martin, Georgie’s front door was suddenly unlocked. 

“George?” he heard a weirdly familiar voice call from the front of Georgie’s flat and Georgie paled. 

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Georgie?” Jon asked, concerned, already scrambling from the couch looking for a hiding spot. 

“I forgot she wanted to come over,” Georgie said, not moving like a deer caught in the headlights. “She texted me a few days ago how she got a new job and she wanted to come over to celebrate. And I forgot! Fuck!” 

Steps were coming closer to Georgie’s living room. 

“George, are you home?” the voice called out again. Where did Jon know it from? 

Georgie finally seemed to recover from her shock and jumped up, grabbing Jon’s shirt and dragging him to her bedroom.

“Georgie, who is that,” Jon hissed as he let himself be dragged along. 

“My soulmate,” she said sheepishly avoiding his gaze, kicking her bedroom door closed. 

“Soulmate?” Jon asked, stopping to desperately look for a hiding spot. Georgie had finally found her soulmate? While this right now was absolutely not the time, he did feel very happy for her. Georgie was a remarkable woman and she deserved finding love like that. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Georgie said, shoving Jon towards her closet, still trying to hide him. But there was no use. Before Jon could even enter the closet, the door to Georgie’s bedroom opened and her soulmate walked inside. 

“There you are, you wouldn’t believe the day I–…..Jon?” 

“Melanie?” 

**********

Martin was not a person to hate Monday mornings. Sure the weekend was nice, but he usually didn’t mind Mondays. He liked his work, or at least he used to. But today was a different Monday. It was the Monday after the first Sunday of the month. The Sunday Martin would usually visit his mother. 

This Sunday it had been particularly bad. He had still been shaken from the experiences of the past week. How had it only been a week since the not!Sasha had attacked them and Jon had gone missing. It already felt like it had been much longer. Yet it only had been 9 days. 9 days since Martin had last heard from Jon. 

When Martin’s mother had actually agreed to let him come up to her room, Martin had originally thought of it as a solace. He had been wrong. 

His mother always had had an incredible gift to basically smell the distress of people. But instead of using that talent to comfort people, she had always liked to push. Martin hadn’t even known why he had been surprised when the first hurtful words had fallen from her mouth. 

He had simply mentioned that Jon was missing, which his mother had taken as a cue to tell Martin that he was not worth staying behind for. That Jon probably had made the best call by staying away from the archives, by staying away from Martin. 

Martin had tried to change the topic. He always had loved his mother and ignored her antics, pushing it on her illness. But that Sunday she had jabbed Martin with every single word, that it was hard not to see how deliberate it was. 

“Everyone will leave you eventually,” she had said. “Why would anyone want to be near you? I sure don’t.” 

Martin had taken that as his cue to leave.

So when he came into the archives on Monday, emotionally torn apart, just to receive a hate filled glare from Tim upon entering the assistants’ office, something snapped inside of Martin. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. His mother had been so cruel to him and while Martint thought that he probably deserved that, it still hurt. Jon was missing, Sasha was held hostage by an eldritch fear god, and Tim was just giving Martin the silent treatment. Martin was tired of it. 

“Can we talk?” he asked, tentatively approaching Tim. 

“I don’t see about what,” Tim said dismissively without looking up from the file he was reading. Normally Martin would leave Tim alone, would not push further, would retreat. But he wasn’t that Martin anymore, just how Tim was no longer the loveable, comforting jokester that had been Martin’s friend. Martin was so sick of this. 

So instead of leaving, he locked the door, put the key in his pocket, took a chair and sat down on the other side of Tim’s desk. 

“Martin, get lost,” Tim snarled. It reminded Martin a lot of how Jon had used to talk to him. Only that Martin now knew that Jon had not hated him, that he had simply been insecure. Tim’s voice on the other hand was laced with malice. 

“I can’t make you talk,” Martin said sternly. “But I will make you listen!” 

Tim let out a very loud, very annoyed groan. He didn’t even lift his eyes from his statement. Martin waited a moment, hoping Tim would say something else, anything really, but Tim continued to ignore his presence. 

“Look, I am not gonna defend Jon, that isn’t my place,” he started.

“I just wanted to let you know that I am really sorry. I know I should have sided with you more instead of having lunch with Jon and I know that having a crush isn’t an excuse for how I left you. But you need to know that everything else I did, I did to get Sasha back. And I wanted to tell you, constantly, all the time, but I was worried you wouldn’t believe us. I am still sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

Martin inhaled deeply before continuing. At least Tim had finally looked up from his file, his stare unreadable. 

“And I understand that you are mad at me, maybe even hate me. But if we want to get Sasha back we need to work together, we need to be able to talk to each other. And I...I need you,” he finally admitted and Tim’s eyes widened. 

“I need you Tim. I lost Sasha, Jon is missing, and I am so bloody alone all the time and I know that isn’t your problem, but I can’t lose you too. _Please_.” 

Martin felt tears streaming down his face and Tim blurred in front of his face. He hadn’t meant to cry, but he just had been unable to hold it back any longer. He felt so pathetic and Tim probably thought the same. 

Typical Martin, always crying, unable to keep it together. Thinking that crying might actually fix something. Martin expected Tim to bite out another insult, to tell Martin tough luck, to finally demand the key for the locked door back. 

Instead there was suddenly a warm hand pressed gently to his arm. Martin looked up in surprise and through the curtains of his tears he saw that Tim had reached out across the table. It was the tender touch Martin had grown so used to after starting in the archive. And the tender touch he had missed so much after Martin had chosen Jon over Tim and Sasha. It was supposed to be comforting, but it only made Martin cry more. It was too much. 

“Shit, Martin,” Tim whispered and Martin heard Tim’s chair being pushed back. Seconds later Tim’s arms were wrapped around Martin and Tim rested his chin on top of Martin’s head. Martin desperately wanted to stop crying, but he just couldn’t. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tim cooed, “look I forgive you. And...and I’m sorry too. You really didn’t deserve the way I treated you, all you wanted to do was help.”

Once again, that only made Martin cry more, Tim started to slowly rub circles on Martin’s shoulder.

“God, Sasha would be so upset with me if she found out I made you cry,” he said. “Breaking her rules and she isn’t even here so that I can buy her a coffee.” 

Martin choked out a laugh between his tears. Back in the early days of them working in the archives, when Jon’s snappy behaviour had often brought Martin to the brink of tears, Sasha had come up with a set of rules for the archive. Number one rule was to always be nice to Martin. Number 2 was that Tim was not allowed to suggest shots on their Friday nights in the pub. Number 3, Sasha was always right. 4 if you broke the rules, you owed Sasha coffee or Martin a hug. Right now Martin missed her so much. 

“We are gonna get her back,” he promised Tim. “We are going to take down The Stranger and we are going to get her back.” 

Martin could feel Tim tensing up at the mentions of The Stranger. 

“I’ll burn that circus to the ground,” he hissed so viciously than Martin was surprised about Tim’s intensity. Clearly there was more to this than just The Stranger taking Sasha. 

Martin untangled himself slightly, just enough to take a better look at Tim’s face. His face was heated, jaw clenched so much Martin could almost hear Tim’s teeth grinding together. And then there was a sadness in his eyes that Martin had never seen before. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, barely audible. Tim hesitated for a moment, trying to calm himself but failing miserably when he started speaking. 

“He has taken _everything_ from me,” the anger in Tim’s voice almost masked the sob that was escaping his throat. And then Tim told Martin about Danny, about clowns, and about his own encounter with The Circus. 

Martin’s heart broke for Tim. It was Tim’s time to cry and Martin’s to hold him. They stayed entangled like that for a while, holding each other, crying. In return for opening up about Danny, Martin opened up about his mother. 

Tim’s gentle embrace turned into a rib crushing, lung collapsing hug. They were both such broken people, but at least they had each other again. They were friends again. And they would get Sasha back, and hug her too and never let her go again. And hopefully Jon too, Martin thought. 

“Look at us, being all healthy and grown up and letting our emotions out,” Tim joked, wiping a tear off his face. 

“Sasha would be so proud,” Martin said. 

“Yes, she would,” Tim agreed and then paused for a second. He inhaled deeply, shook himself slightly and then started talking again.

“I never got to tell her how I feel,” he said. “You know she was my best friend. Had been for such a long time when we drunkenly hooked up for the first time. And you know that was already it for me. I was gone on her. But of course being me, I cocked it right up,” he half laughed half sobbed. 

Martin couldn’t help but smile through his own tears too. 

“But we managed to stay friends and I thought I was fine with that. But then Prentiss happened and she saved my life and I just knew that I had to tell her how I felt ‘cause life is short and all that. I almost did after the Christmas party.” Tim smiled at the memory.

“But I of course was still too much of a coward and then she got that boyfriend and I didn’t want to ruin her happiness. Well and now it turns out that it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. That boyfriend was a circus minion and Sasha was not Sasha.” 

Tim let out a sharp breath, Martin could sense that he was trying to control his anger. Martin wished he knew a way to calm Tim down, but talking to him already seemed to have helped. 

It was that exact moment that Melanie chose to pick the lock of the door and burst into the assistants’ office, startling Tim and Martin out of their embrace. Their legs still were touching and Tim and one arm slung around Martin and Martin leaned into the touch. 

“Are you oka–…” he started but Melanie already interrupted him. 

“I know where Jon is,” she said slightly out of breath. For a second her words just hung in the air like fog that wouldn’t quite fade. Then, instantly both Tim and Martin jumped off their chairs and started speaking. 

“What? Where?” 

“Is he okay?”

“How did you find him?” 

They were both talking over each other, not leaving Melanie any time to answer. Martin was overwhelmed with thoughts, but his main one was that Jon was alive! 

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Melanie stopped them and both of them fell silent. 

“Jon is alright. Horrified that I started working here, but otherwise alright,” she said and Martin let out a huge breath of relief. Jon was alright. 

“He is currently hiding out at a friends place,” she continued. “I would tell you where, but that would only endanger Jon.” 

“Makes sense,” Tim huffed, but there was no bite in it.

“And he contacted you, or…?” Martin tried his best to hide his jealousy. Why had Jon trusted Melanie with his whereabouts but not Martin? Jon barely knew Melanie. Meanwhile Martin had been there with him for all of it, and Jon _still_ didn’t trust him? It stung a bit. 

“No, I found him rather...,” Melanie was looking for the right word. “Accidentally. He didn’t reach out specifically to me or anything, don’t worry,” she added with a pointed smirk. Martin decided to ignore the smirk, but immediately felt better.

“Oh and he wanted me to give this to you.” Out of her bag, Melanie pulled two envelopes, one with Tim’s name on it one with Martin’s. “I think they are instructions.” Martin recognized the handwriting instantly as Jon’s. 

It took Martin all his self restraint not to yank the letter out of Melanie’s hand ripping it open. With shaking hands he took it from her, after she had Tim given his.

It was rather short, mainly filled with research instructions, except for the last paragraph.

_I was glad to hear from Melanie that you are alright. But also knowing that you went to visit your mother yesterday I hope that that is still the case. Please remember that her words barely reflect the truth. Take care._

~~_Y_~~ _ ~~ours~~ ,_ _~~Yours~~ ~~Yours~~_

~~_Yours_ ~~

_Yours,_

_Jon_

The _yours_ had been crossed out several times, rendered almost illegible like Jon had fought immensely with the decision whether to write it or not. Martin was glad he had decided to leave it in in the end. Gently he rubbed his thumb over the word. _Yours_. 

It was silly and he knew it, but Martin couldn’t help being a romantic at heart. Quickly, to not allow himself to drift further into daydreams, he looked up. 

Tim had finished reading the letter Jon had left him. Judging by his face, Jon had written down more than simple instructions for Tim too. Tim almost looked sadder than he had before. 

“Right,” Melanie interrupted the heavy silence that hat settled on them without Martin noticing it until it had been broken. “Jon said something about The Stranger files, and he did ask for statements. Do you want me to deliver a message to him when I take all the stuff back to his hideout?” 

“Next time you see him, can you…” Tim hesitated, “Can you tell him that I need some time?” Melanie nodded. 

“But, that I am glad that he is still alive?” he added after a short second. 

“Sure,” she said. “Martin, what about you? Do you have anything you want me to tell him?” 

Martin wanted to tell Jon so much. Everything. From profound confessions, to horribly mundane facts about how his day was going. But of course he couldn’t tell Jon, and he most definitely could not just tell Melanie directly for her to pass Martin’s thoughts on.

“I just might write him a little note,” he mumbled, actively not meeting Melanie’s or Tim’s eyes. 

“Smitten as ever,” Tim joked and ruffled through Martin’s hair messing up his curls. 

“For what it’s worth,” Melanie said trying to hide a grin, “he was asking a lot about you. And according to Geo–...the person he is staying with, he talked about you non stop.” 

“I mean I know all about the research we have done on The Stranger and the not!them. I’ll photocopy it all and put in a file for him,” Martin said and was already starting to grab several folders. That was clearly the reason Jon was asking after Martin. If that was even the case, Melanie was probably just exaggerating to get a rise out of him. 

“Yeah, I am sure _that’s_ why he was asking after you,” Tim snickered behind Martin and out of the corners of his eyes Martin saw Melanie shaking her head. 

Jon did not seem like the person to get crushes. And he definitely was not the person to get crushes on Martin. Being Jon’s friend was more than Martin had ever bargained for and he was happy about it. The other’s simply had no idea what they were talking about, he decided. 

After he had collected all the information for the master file on The Stranger, Martin sat down to write to Jon. If he only knew what to write. For a self proclaimed poet Martin seemed to have forgotten all the words. 

Sure, Martin could write an epic love letter that would put Keats’ letters to Fanny Brawe to shame. But of course Martin was not going to do that. Instead he settled for a short note: 

_Dear_ ~~_est_ ~~ _Jon,_

 _Thank you for letting us know that you are alive. I photocopied and collected all the research on The Stranger that we did. Tim, Melanie and I are going to try our best to find out more, though the archives seem weirdly empty without you._ ~~_I miss you_ ~~ _~~.~~ I hope wherever you are, that you too are okay, and of course that these files help. Stay safe please. _

_Hopefully see you soon._

_Y_ _ours_ ~~_truly,  
_ ~~

_Martin_

It worked well for a few weeks. They would do research, give the results to Melanie who always came back with new instructions from Jon. Almost hidden away between those instructions, Jon left little notes for Martin. Easy to gloss over. 

Sometimes the notes just said that Jon hoped that they all were well. A few times a note mentioned that Jon struggled to concentrate, outside of the archives away from them all. Once he specifically asked how Martin always prepared his tea, and Martin’s heart felt like it would burst any moment. 

He tried to keep himself from reading into the notes. They were always regarding all of the archives staff, not just Martin. But they were always addressed directly to him. There hadn’t been a single note starting with _Dear Melanie_ or _Dear Tim_ . It always just read _Dear Martin_ and always ended with _Yours Jon._

And while Martin did not allow himself to become delusional over the intentions of these notes, he still couldn’t stop himself from keeping them. Every new note was carefully tugged away into his poetry notebook. Every time a new post-it joined his collection Martin couldn’t help but smile.

And then it just stopped. Jon disappeared, without a word, gone. The secret person he had stayed with had no idea where he had gone. Melanie had no clue either. 

Martin had already been sick with worry when they still had contact with Jon, now it was growing more and more unbearable. Still, Jon was probably alright. He probably had just felt like he had to hide more. Maybe Detective Tonner had been close to catching him. 

Martin tried to push his worries away and instead focus on research. It was nearly impossible, but Martin just about managed. Tim’s and Melanie’s presence helped. They were better at hiding it, but Martin knew they were worried too. 

That was until one day, Rosie stumbled down into their archives, informing them that Elias wanted to see them in his office. Now! 

“Fun-fuckig-tastitc,” Tim groaned and got up from his desk. He and Martin had both been going through a lot of clown specific statements, but all of them had recorded perfectly on their laptops. So it had been a waste of time. Both of them were not in the mood to face Elias, not that anyone ever was. 

They collected Melanie from the library on their way up. She was still doing research for her India trip. Just like Martin and Tim she was less than pleased that she had to go to meet with Elias. 

“Do you think he knows that Jon told us not to trust him?” Martin whispered as they approached the third floor. 

“Don’t think he would care,” Melanie grunted. “He doesn’t seem like the type who expects people to trust him.” 

“And yet you signed on to work for him,” Tim said plainly. 

“What can I say, I like money and getting my trips paid for me,” she laughed but there was no mirth in it. 

Martin knew that Melanie did not outright regret starting to work for the institute, but the work there did leave its mark on people. Quite literally if one considered that they technically worked for a fear god. They all couldn’t wait to stop The Circus and to get Sasha back so they could finally leave this forsaken place. 

“Well, here goes nothing,” Tim said as they arrived in front of Elias’ office and opened the door. 

Martin was the first one to step in, and stopped abruptly, a squeak escaping his mouth. Elias was sitting behind his desk, calm and collected as ever. Next to the desk stood Detective Tonner and Basira. Detective Tonner was smiling excitedly but her eyes remained cold, Basira meanwhile was just frowning. But right now they were unimportant, because opposite them, holding himself up with one hand on Elias’ desk, stood Jon. 

Martin’s heart broke instantly. He was used to seeing Jon exhausted and sleep deprived, but right now Jon looked like he was barely clinging on to life. His first instinct was to run across the room and to throw his arms around Jon, holding him tightly. But something flickered in Jon’s eyes, a quick movement towards Elias, almost too quick to notice, that stopped Martin. 

**********

It had been a long month. After being kidnapped by Nikola Orsinov and her freak show circus, burned by Jude Perry and tossed in the Vast by Mike Crew, only to then get kidnapped again and almost killed by Daisy Tonner, Jon was tired. His hand burned, there was a fresh, long cut on his neck, courtesy of Daisy, and his whole body hurt. 

Not to mention that if it turned out that he was wrong, that Elias in fact had not killed Leitner, Daisy would this time not withdraw her knife from Jon’s neck. Right now she had a smug, almost evil smile on her face, eyes darting back and forth between Elias and Jon. Elias seemed far too calm given the situation and it worried Jon. Maybe he was wrong after all. 

Before he could spiral more into his anxiety the door to Elias office burst open. And then Martin’s face appeared and for a second everything was alright. 

Jon could already see Martin starting to reach out and _god_ , Jon wanted to hug him, to be swept up into his arms, to bury his face in Martin’s chest. But they couldn't. Not here, not now, it was too dangerous. 

_Don’t_ , he tried to tell Martin with his eyes, _not in front of Elias_. Martin thankfully seemed to understand and just stood there gaping at Jon. Behind him Tim and Melanie stepped into the office. 

“Shit, Jon!” Tim gasped upon seeing Jon, and Jon allowed himself for a moment to enjoy the lack of hostility and the soft hint of actual concern in Tim’s voice. “What happened to you?” 

“I believe our dear Archivist got kidnapped,” Elias replied. So he had known, Jon thought bitterly. Had known the whole time and while Jon had feared for his life Elias had done nothing. 

“And you found him?” Melanie asked, turning to Daisy. 

“I’m the one who kidnapped him,” she smirked complacently. 

“The _second_ time around,” Elias provided unhelpful commentary again and if Daisy was not going to do it, Jon swore himself he would make Elias hurt. 

“You got kidnapped _twice_?” Tim and Martin said in unison, Martin sounding concerned, Tim almost a bit amused. The urge to reach out to them was growing stronger every moment, but Jon couldn’t. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Daisy interrupted them with a growl. “We are here for more important things. Jon, if you would be _so kind_ ,” she added and nodded towards Elias. 

“As I mentioned there won’t be any need for Jon to... _compel_ me,” Elias said. “I’ll happily admit to the fact that I have killed Gertrude Robinson and Jurgen Leitner.” 

Relief flooded through Jon’s body. He was not going to die. At least not today. However it did worry him, how unbothered Elias seemed to be and how he had just volunteered that information. Daisy was mere seconds away from killing him and he just had admitted to a room full of people that he was a murderer. Something was off. 

That something turned out to be leverage on Daisy. Jon was not surprised, Daisy didn’t really seem like the most law obedient person. However, while Daisy did not care about the leverage against herself, she very much cared about Basira. And that was her downfall. 

Of course Elias was insidious enough to exploit their relationship using Daisy’s own emotions against her. It took Jon all his concentration not to look at Martin. He understood perfectly how the threat of Basira being harmed was enough to keep Daisy from outright killing Elias. 

“What do you want?” Daisy asked, absentmindedly rubbing her thumb over her wrist. It was obvious that at this point she would do anything to protect Basira and Jon wondered briefly if her and Basira’s partnership or relationship or whatever it was, was deeper than just basic human connection. 

“I want Miss Hussain,” Elias said and slid a piece of paper over to Basira, “to sign this.” 

“A work contract?” she asked after eying the piece of paper suspiciously. 

The sinking feeling in Jon’s stomach grew stronger. He had already been unable to prevent Melanie from being dragged into the institute. Basira had always been kind to him, had saved his life. And now she was about to sign her own away. 

“Don’t do it,” he tried to warn her. At the same time Daisy spoke.

“Basira, wait,” she said. “We’ll find another way.” 

But Basira just shrugged and signed the contract. 

“Welcome to the team,” Elias said with a bright smile showing too many of his teeth. Daisy shot him an angry look, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Basira avoided looking at her directly. 

“I still don’t see how this is supposed to stop me from killing you,” Daisy grunted.

Elias laughed lightly. “Ah well you see, you can kill me of course. But Miss Hussain is now bound to the institute and therefore bound _to me_.”

Jon had a very bad feeling. 

“You are, because of your job, I assume well acquainted with entity marks, are you not Detective Tonner?” 

Daisy went all quiet and nodded.

“Well,” Elias continued and Jon could feel that he was enjoying this. “The employees of the institute are marked by The Eye. But employees of the archives specifically are not only marked, they are bound by their mark, unable to ever leave. Which also means if I die,” he paused dramatically. “ _They_ die.”

There was a moment of heavy silence, before the entire office erupted into different shouts and screams. Tim had to keep Melanie from jumping Elias, while he was also angrily shouting insults at their boss. Daisy and Basira were shouting at each other, both upset. Martin wasn’t shouting as much, but rather sending a helpless glance towards Jon. Elias was just leaning back in his chair, a big grin spread on his lips, like he was _enjoying the show_ and Jon felt sick. 

“Would you calm down please,” Elias lifted his arms and they all fell quiet. “I still am a busy man with a lot of work to do. But as this is probably a big shock to you all, I am willing to be nice and give you all the afternoon off. Now leave please.” 

Even though his voice was polite as ever, there was a dangerous, green glow in his eyes. Jon felt suddenly reminded again that this man was capable of brutal murder, and probably a lot more. He felt utterly defeated and one look at the others told him they felt the same. 

Murring, Daisy left the office, Basira’s hand in her own, dragging her behind. Melanie gave Elias one last, stabbing glare and then let Tim pull her through the door as well. Martin and Jon followed them. 

“Oh, Jon,” Elias said behind them when Jon was almost out of the door, “could I have a moment please.” 

Jon sighed, he caught one last glance of Martin before turning around and closing the door. 

“What do you want, Elias?” Jon was barely holding it together and he just wanted to leave the office. 

“I was going to ask, how your progress with serving The Eye is coming along,” Elias asked. “Your compulsion abilities clearly have grown, how is the statement hunger going? _Are you eating enough?_ ” 

“Fuck off!”

“My, my, Jon,” Elias pretended to be offended. “I simply ask because I _worry_ about you.”

“Don’t act like you care about me!” Jon spat, “You knew I was kidnapped and did nothing about it. You didn’t even tell anybody.” The smug smile on Elias’ face never seemed to fade. 

“There wasn’t much of a point, they couldn’t have helped you anyways,” he simply said and then his cocky smile grew more into a malicious grin. “ _Martin’s_ research surely would have been sloppier.” 

Jon’s heartbeat stopped for a second. So Elias knew about Martin’s feelings. Somehow, despite everything Elias had done, knowing about Martin’s feelings felt the most intrusive. 

Jon would try everything to keep Elias from finding out about Jon’s feelings for Martin. Jon didn’t care if Elias hurt him, but if he as much as laid a finger on Martin, Jon didn’t know what he would do. If Elias found out about his feelings, Martin would be in great danger. Jon decided the best way was to brush over Elias’ comment with anger.

“Well thank you so much for your help,” his voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I assume you will put the same effort in when it comes to stopping The Circus and The Unknowing?”

“Ah, unfortunately stopping rituals was always more Gertrude’s forte than mine.” Jon wanted to punch him so badly. “But I’ll see what I can find and send it your way. Until then maybe you should try _Knowing_.” 

Jon paled again. He was already uncomfortable with serving The Eye, but the fact that Elias was actively pushing him towards becoming an avatar made Jon’s insides twist horribly. He felt how his limbs started to get jittery. His tiredness was catching up with his body.

“Is that all?” he managed to say, everything crashing more and more into him. 

“Yes, that is all,” Elias said like he was pleased. “You are dismissed, Jon.” 

If Jon had been able to sprint, he would have. Instead he just staggered out of Elias’ office. 

And then he broke down. He barely made it into a small, empty research office before he fell onto his knees, his whole body shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming over his face. Everything hurt, everything was too much and he could process nothing of it. Jon felt like his insides were tearing him apart. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed until the door of the small office suddenly opened and a relieved voice said, “Oh, Jon.” 

As the person stepped closer Jon noticed through his blurry veil of tears that it was Melanie who had come in. Caringly, she put her hand on his shoulder before she turned her head around shouting out into the hallway, “I found him!” 

Seconds later Martin and Tim burst through the door. Melanie lifted her hand off Jon’s shoulder and shifted slightly, to let Martin and Tim through. Jon already missed the touch.

Martin kneeled down in front of Jon, carrying a first aid kit in his hands. Jon wanted to reach out to him, but he was too weak to move a single muscle. 

“Can you speak?” Martin asked softly and opened his kit. 

Jon tried but there was no air in his lungs, instead they were filled with his tears making it impossible to breathe. His throat felt like Daisy had pushed her knife inside rather than just slashed across it, and Jon was trembling too much to get his mouth to form any words. So he simply shook his head, still unable to stop crying. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Martin whispered and gave Jon a small, but encouraging smile. 

“Is it alright if I touch you?” he asked and Jon managed another small nod. 

“I’m going to look at your cut, okay?” Martin told him gently and Jon’s breath hitched when Martin’s fingers were carefully placed on his neck. Other than Melanie’s hand on his shoulder this was the first friendly touch Jon had had in weeks. Martin’s fingers were pleasantly cold compared to Jon’s hot skin. It was freezing in the institute, Jon had no idea why he still felt like he was burning. 

Slowly Martin put his left hand under Jon’s chin, gently lifting it up, while his right hand was tenderly cupping the back of Jon’s neck. 

Even though the touch was minimal, Jon melted into it and his body trembled slightly less. Tim seemed to notice that touch calmed Jon, because mere seconds later he slid down next to Jon, back pressed against the wall, his shoulder leaning against Jon’s. 

Jon had expected that the only touch he would ever receive from Tim again would be a punch in the face. Not that it would have been completely undeserved. And yet, Tim was here, pressing his side into Jon’s, slowly taking Jon’s unburned hand in his own. 

While it calmed Jon’s shaking body, it made Jon just cry more. Jon did not deserve this. He did not cry often, but right now he couldn’t help it. No matter how hard he tried to stop, the tears just kept running. On his other side he felt Melanie shift, now sitting cross legged on the floor. She couldn’t take his hand because of the burns but she gently rested her hand on his elbow instead. 

“This might sting a bit,” Martin said apologetically before cleaning Jon’s cut out with a cotton pad and some rubbing alcohol. It did sting indeed, but at this point it was still one of the more pleasant sensations Jon had felt that month. Once Martin had cleaned the wound, he put a big band aid on it. Jon almost whimpered as Martin’s fingers left his neck. 

“I know you don’t like your wrist exposed, I just need to know whether the burn extends all the way down or if it's just your hand.” Martin explained calmly and took Jon’s unharmed hand out of Tim’s. “So please tap once if your wrist is not hurt, tap twice if it is. I promise you if it is I will not look at your mark,” Martin promised. 

It was sweet that Martin was respecting his privacy so much, Jon thought before tapping Martin’s hand once. 

Jude had actually tried to burn his wrist too, the way her fingers had reached for it, like it wasn’t enough to just hurt Jon. No, she had wanted to hurt his soulmate too. Fortunately, his leather bracelet had protected his wrist just enough. 

Delicately Martin held up Jon’s burned hand and spread a cooling lotion over it. For the first time this week, the constant, unpleasant heat Jon’s hand ebbed away. It became easier to breathe too, as Martin carefully wrapped a bandage around Jon’s hand. He lifted Jon’s hand up, close to his face, and for a second Jon thought that Martin was about to press Jon’s fingers against his lips, tracing his knuckles with little kisses. 

But Martin just inspected the hand closer, turned it around, and after seeming content with his work, slowly let go of it. 

“There. All patched up,” Martin said with a radiant smile to Jon. All the pain of the last month was simultaneously eating Jon alive and oozing out of him. Jon wanted to say thank you, but he still couldn’t speak. 

His body went limp and he slumped against Tim, his head resting on Tim’s shoulder. At least the sobbing had stopped and the tremor was only minimal now.

“God, Jon, you’re really burning up,” Tim said and shifted to place his hand on Jon’s forehead. 

Probably just the exhaustion, Jon thought, but his mind started to become very cloudy, his vision was nothing but a haze. All noises suddenly were muffled, he heard all three of his assistants speak, but couldn’t make out a single word.

Jon felt how one arm was gently put under his knees and another one slung around his back. He barely registered that he was lifted into the air, his face pressed against soft fabric. Whatever the fabric was it smelled nice, Jon thought. And then he blacked out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, that this time it took my like 10 days to update, but as you can tell this chapter got quite long. I'd like to say I will update in the next 7 days but I can't promise anything other than the next chapter is going to be tooth rutting, self indulgent fluff. 
> 
> As always feel free to leave kudos/comments <3
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [Rue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xeAK9A8SOI) by girl in red


	10. Sweetheart, you look a little tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come get y'all's fluff juice

When Jon woke up he had no idea where he was. This was not unusual given his last month. What was unusual however, was that Jon felt comfortable. He was not tied to a chair, or sleeping on a bench, or curled up on Georgie’s far too small couch.

Instead, Jon was lying in a rather spacious, very soft bed, a comforting, warm duvet dragged over him. 

The other thing Jon instantly noted, was the complete lack of danger hanging in the air. He could barely make out the room in which he was in, the only light source coming from the crack under the door, yet he felt safe.

For a moment, Jon allowed himself to sink deeper into the pillows. There was a smell that was weirdly familiar and quite soothing. Jon grabbed one of the pillows, wrapped his arms around, and buried his face in it. It smelt like breakfast tea, honey, and jasmine fabric softener. It smelt like Martin. 

_Martin._

Jon jolted up. Immediately he regretted that decision, his whole body ached like every single bone of his body had been broken and pushed into the wrong places back after. A soft groan escaped his lips as he slowly sank back down. As his head hit the pillow, once again that familiar smell wafted into his nose. Was this...could this….could this be Martin’s bedroom, Jon wondered. 

The last thing he remembered clearly was leaving Elias’ office, the rest after that was cloudy. 

Carefully, Jon slithered out of the comfortable bed, his hand gripping the bed frame tightly. He did not trust his legs to carry him without any extra support. One tentative step after another Jon made his way across the room to the door. 

His eyes were slowly getting used to the dim light, but what he could make out in the dark did not give him any more clues as to where he was. The hardest part was to cross the space between the end of the bed and the door, there was nothing Jon could hold onto. Jon took one short moment to gather himself, before with all the strength he still held he pushed himself away from the end of the bed towards the door, arms reached out, desperately hoping it would be enough force to let them land on the door knob. He was lucky and just about managed to reach the door without falling. 

Okay, he thought, this was it. He inhaled briefly once more before opening the bedroom door and stepping into a narrow, short hallway. There were three doors Jon could choose from. The front door was tempting, he could just run off again, given that he didn’t know who exactly his host or _possible captor_ was. But Jon knew he would barely make it outside. 

Instead he limped towards the door behind which he could hear faint music playing and someone humming along. As he opened the door Jon was almost blinded by the light in the room. Instinctively he pressed his eyes shut and groaned. 

The other person had clearly not noticed him coming in because they kept on singing, Jon could now make out the words.

_I wouldn't know where to start_

_"Sweet Music" playing "In The Dark"_

Relieved Jon recognized that the voice belonged to Martin and slowly he opened his eyes again, giving them time to adjust to the bright light. He was in a small living room that, similar to Jon’s own flat, bled into the kitchen, where Martin was currently cleaning dishes. His hands pressed onto the walls, Jon started to move towards Martin, who had not yet noticed Jon and continued singing. 

_Be still "My Foolish Heart,"_

His voice was quite lovely, Jon thought, and promptly ran into the old, green couch that was standing in the living room. A dull pain shot into his hip bone and Jon let out a curse. 

_Don't ruin this on–…_

“Oh, good you’re up,” Martin had turned around upon hearing Jon curse, eyes worriedly looking him up and down. “You okay there?” 

“Yes,” Jon nodded, trying not to hiss in pain. His run in with the couch had almost thrown him off his legs, so he was now gripping the armrest desperately, trying not to fall down. “Hi Martin,” he said, not knowing what else to say. 

“Hello Jon,” Martin replied, a small smile spreading on his lips. “Tea?” 

Jon nodded again, and Martin pushed one of the two chairs out from the tiny table, that was separating the kitchen from the living room, towards Jon. It was easy enough for Jon to reach from the couch without any struggle, and thankfully he let himself fall onto the chair. Martin got the kettle going. 

“So I assume we are in your flat?” Jon was more stating a fact then asking a question. Martin just hummed in confirmation while Jon let his eyes wander some more. 

Next to the couch there were two bookshelves, filled more with knicknacks than books. There was a warm tingling in Jon’s stomach when he spotted a copy of the polaroid from his birthday on Martin’s shelf right next to some succulents. Overall the room was rather small, almost tiny, but it just felt so much like Martin. The abundance of tea mugs he could spot in the kitchen, the notebooks most likely filled with poetry, the retro record player. It was so obviously Martin’s place and it radiated comfort, radiated the feeling of home. 

Jon blinked, trying to focus back on Martin, when suddenly a question popped up in his mind. 

“And...uhm...how...uhm how did we end up in your flat?” Jon asked while Martin was preparing their mugs. Immediately, Martin’s face turned a shade of red that Jon hadn’t thought was humanly possible to turn. 

“Uhm,...I…..I,” Martin stuttered, very pointedly looking down at the tea mugs. “I may….may have carried you.” 

“Ah,” Jon said, voice flat. That would explain the scarlett tinge on Martin’s cheeks, Jon thought, feeling the heat rising to his face as well. 

“I mean you were unconscious and we had to get you out somehow,” Martin started to ramble apologetically. His hands were grabbing the handle of the kettle so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. 

“Makes sense,” Jon replied weakly. 

He now vaguely remembered arms under his legs and around his shoulder, his face buried in a soft fabric, that now that he was thinking about it, clearly had been Martin’s jumper.

“And eh...did you...did you carry me home on the tube, or….?” Jon asked, his cheeks now burning.

While the fact that Martin could just pick him up and carry him was enticing, the idea that Jon had been unconscious in Martin’s arms on the tube was rather embarrassing. Even though it was London and no one would have batted an eye, Jon was not sure how intact his dignity would be if it was true. 

“Oh, no. No, no, uhm…,” Martin hurried to say. “Tim...uhm...drove us here in his car.” 

“I still don’t understand how he drives a car to work in _Central London_ ,” Jon grumbled, happy to have something to latch onto and change the topic with. Martin let out a little giggle when he replied.

“I think he seduced one of the old, rich guys, that can actually afford to live in Central,” he said and handed Jon his now finished cup of tea. “And now Tim uses the underground car park spot in the rich guy’s fancy building.” 

Jon nodded and then there was an awkward silence. Both their faces were still flushed and neither knew how to properly look at the other. 

“Well...uhm...thank you,” Jon finally said. “For the tea.” He lifted up his mug and then added mumbling, still not daring to meet Martin’s eyes, “And thanks for patching me up.”

“No problem,” Martin replied and took a sip of his own tea, leaning against the kitchen counter, almost cautious as if he was trying not to get too close to Jon, to give him space. 

Jon didn’t quite know what to make of that. After all Martin had carried him home in his arms, they were a bit past the point of keeping space between them. Maybe Martin was just afraid that he was making Jon uncomfortable, which really wasn’t the case. 

Jon opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say, but then it occurred to him. Maybe Martin was actually the one uncomfortable with being in Jon’s space. Maybe Jon, slowly turning into a horrible fear monster, feeding off other people’s encounters with other avatars, had managed to kill Martin’s crush. Maybe Martin had simply brought Jon into his home because he felt like he was obliged to. And Jon couldn’t imagine Tim or Melanie volunteering for the position. 

“Anyways I should probably leave now,” Jon hurried to say. The idea that he was currently imposing on Martin and his kindness was horrible. To his surprise Martin made a noise of protest. 

“Jon, it’s 10pm,” he said sternly. “And you are in no condition to leave and be on your own, you can barely walk!” 

“I’m fine!” Jon replied sharply before looking down on the table and adding almost inaudible, “I don’t want to burden you.” 

Martin’s eyebrows rose before he started laughing.

“Christ, Jon,” he chuckled. “You are not a burden! I like taking care of people and you clearly need help.” Martin finally made a few steps towards Jon and set down on the chair next to him, their knees brushing together. 

“It would be a far bigger burden, knowing you were out there alone, unable to take care of yourself,” Martin added, staring at Jon intensely. Jon still did not know how to feel. 

“But….” he started before Martin interrupted him. 

“No buts!” he said. “Stay at least the night, if you are so eager to get home you can do that tomorrow after getting some more rest!” 

Jon sighed. Martin was right. He knew that he needed rest. And Martin would not be this insisting if Jon was too much. 

“Okay,” he whispered. But tomorrow, Jon decided, he would definitely leave. Martin beamed at his reply. 

“Great,” he grinned. “I’d suggest you go take a shower and I’ll fix some sandwiches.” 

Jon looked himself down. He had forgotten that he was still wearing the same clothes in which he had gotten kidnapped. His favourite green jumper was covered in grime and mudd, there was blood all over his skin, his hair felt greasy. A shower sounded heavenly. Apart from one small problem. 

“I have no clothes to change into,” he pointed out.

“You can have some of mine,” Martin replied and Jon’s eyes widened. He knew it was the logical thing to do, but his brain was hung up on the idea of wearing Martin’s clothes. 

“If you’re okay with that,” Martin quickly said, misreading the expression on Jon’s face. 

“Hm? No, no, I mean yes, I totally am, sorry,” Jon stumbled over his own words. “Thank you.” 

To avoid any more awkwardness, Jon got up and started to limp towards the door to the hallway. His legs were in pain, and his arms too were getting tired of supporting his weight. Jon was determined to make it to the bathroom on his own, when Martin placed one hand suddenly on his lower back and one under his right arm. Grateful, Jon let Martin guide him to the bathroom. 

“I’ll just leave the clothes outside the bathroom door while you shower, yeah?” Martin asked once they had arrived and Jon nodded. Martin closed the door and Jon peeled himself out of his old clothes, relieved to find a small stool under the sink that he could easily put into the shower. 

The shower felt magical. For the first time in a long time Jon’s tense muscles started to relax. The dirt was coming off his skin, and his hair had longed to be washed. The fact that his hair now smelled like Martin’s shampoo was a bonus. 

When he left the shower Martin had left a bundle of neatly folded clothes in front of the bathroom door. A pair of sweatpants, a shirt, a jumper (the fuzzy yellow one Jon noted delighted, and a pair of comfy socks.

The sweat pants were far too big on Jon, he had to roll them up and tie them quite tightly at the top. The same applied to the old shirt Martin had given him and the jumper. Jon was basically drowning in the jumper, his hands completely disappearing in the soft, woolen fabric, the hem of the jumper reaching his knees. Jon loved it. 

When he returned to the kitchen Martin already handed him a plate with two sandwiches on it. Jon almost felt too exhausted to eat, but he knew Martin would not be pleased if he refused dinner. 

Slowly he started to nibble on the sandwich, despite his fatigue Jon was glad that Martin was forcing him to eat something. His stomach rumbled in approval. Once he was done eating Jon slumbed back into the chair ready to fall asleep right there, right this moment. He only registered in passing that Martin cleaned up the table and returned with a small box. Jon’s eyes fell shut and he knew he was about to doze off. 

“Jon, Jon!” Martin startled him out of his snooze. “I know you are tired, you can go to bed in a second. But I need to change your bandages first okay?” Jon just gave a sleepy nodd, closed his eyes and put his hand across the table to look at. 

He was relishing Martin’s tender touch, the way he carefully applied more soothing lotion on Jon’s burns, how Martin softly let his fingers stroke Jon’s neck after replacing the band aid. Once again Martin’s delicate touch was gone far too soon. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and looked up at Martin, who held out his hand for Jon to take. Jon happily took it. 

“Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?” he asked as he pulled Jon up from the chair. As much as Jon would have liked to be carried again he was still afraid that he was crossing Martin’s boundaries and taking advantage of Martin’s kindness.

“Can walk,” he mumbled and got up. Martin still held his hand, supporting him, carefully leading Jon back to the bedroom and helping him into the bed. As Martin pulled the covers over Jon’s tired body and Jon’s heavy head sunk into the pillows, Jon realized one crucial thing. 

“Where are you gonna sleep,” Jon’s speech was slurred, half unconscious already. 

“I’ll take the couch,” Martin said and before Jon could protest he added. “No arguing about this tonight! Sleep! Now!” A second later Jon was gone. 

The next time Jon woke up something was wrong. He was wrong. He felt wrong. His throat was even more sore than it had been a few days ago. Breathing was hard, his nose was stuffed, and his body covered in sweat despite the fact that he was shivering as if a ghost had walked through him. 

His body ached even worse than the day before despite all the rest he had gotten. Slowly and with all the strength he could master, Jon inched to the edge of the bed. Martin’s blanket was weighing Jon down as if it was made out of cement. 

Jon took a deep breath, or at least as deep as his stuffy nose allowed him to, and swung his legs out of bed. The movement gave him enough momentum to actually get up. But after one tentative step Jon’s legs caved in and with an embarrassing high squeal Jon fell face first into Martin’s floor, his arms barely bracing the fall. 

He knew immediately that there was no use in even trying to get up. Maybe if he was lucky he could press up his upper body and bring at least half of himself in an upright position and prop himself against the bed. But Jon did not feel like trying. He knew his limits.

Instead he tried to call out for Martin, but the words that escaped his mouth were nothing but a hoarse whisper. He tried again, but once more there was almost no sound. 

Jon already saw himself painfully robbing across the floor to the door, trying to pull it open, but luckily, he didn’t have to. The bedroom door opened itself. 

“Jon, are you okay? I heard a loud–…” Martin stepped into the bedroom and spotted Jon lying on the floor. “Shit, Jon!” He exclaimed before dropping to his knees, carefully helping Jon sit up. 

“What happened?” he asked, one hand resting on Jon’s shoulder the other on his lower back. It almost felt like Jon was sitting in Martin’s lap. Thankfully, Jon was too exhausted to blush at the thought. 

Instead, almost instinctively, he let himself fall back slightly, leaning into the touch. 

“Think ‘m sick,” he mumbled quietly. God, speaking hurt. A cold hand was suddenly pressed to his hot forehead. 

“You think, huh?” Martin let out a small laugh trying to mask his worry. “Jon you are literally burning up.” 

Jon wanted to point out that he was not _literally_ burning up. After all, thanks to Jude, he had first hand experiences of burning up. But when Martin removed his hand from Jon’s face, a whimper escaped Jon. 

_Christ_ , he felt pathetic. This was probably just a cold. He had had colds before, they were unpleasant, but in the end no big deal. There was no need to act so needy, he mentally scolded himself. All he needed was some coughing syrup, maybe some paracetamol, and some vick vaporub, and he would be as good as new. 

“‘m fine, just a cold,” he wheezed between coughs. He couldn’t see Martin’s face but he could almost feel how hard Martin rolled his eyes. 

“Sure you are, Jon,” he said half annoyed, half concerned and started to move. “Can you get up?” 

Stubbornly Jon attempted to move. Maybe his body had simply not been awake enough earlier. After all this was just a cold, he definitely could move. He was fine. 

After a moment of desperate pushing, fruitless stretching, and several pained groans, Martin took pity on Jon. Very quickly he looped one arm under Jon’s legs, the other around his back and smoothly lifted Jon back into the bed. It all happened so fast that Jon let out a surprised yelp. 

“Look there is no shame in admitting that you are not alright and allowing yourself to rest and be taken care of,” Martin said, looking down at him. This time there was real concern in his voice. “This is not a normal cold Jon. Your body has been harmed in several horrible ways, you’ve been hunted for murder and got kidnapped. When is the last time you properly ate?” 

“Last night, you made me a sandwich,” Jon pointed out only to receive another eye roll from Martin that made Jon duck his head. 

Mike Crew had offered him some tea and biscuits three days ago, but Jon had not had the chance to eat them. The Circus fed him, but only very occasionally and never much. After all, mannequins and eldritch delivery men didn’t need to eat. His last proper, healthy meal may have been at Georgie’s almost a month ago.

When he told Martin, Martin groaned in frustration. 

“Christ,” he said. 

“Wasn’t really my fault,” Jon tried to argue. Martin gave him another look. 

“Yeah, I know,” he paused for a second. “But you were also never great at eating properly even when you were not kidnapped.”

Knowing that Martin was right, Jon ducked his head in shame. The only times he had actually, regularly consumed food had been when Martin and Jon had shared their lunch breaks together. 

“Look, you rest. Meanwhile I’ll go cook something and then bring you some tea okay?” Martin said, pushing Jon’s upper body gently down into the bed, before leaving the bedroom to go into the kitchen.

Jon frowned. Martin had complained several times that he was very unskilled when it came to cooking. Well, very unskilled did not mean _completely unable_ , he thought and sunk deeper into the pillows. Martin knew what he was doing. Before he could think about it further, Jon was pulled back into sleep and fever dreams. 

He found himself in strange places that did not quite seem to be his own dream world. Instead he saw people suffer through encounters with horrible entities over and over again. Some he actually recognized as statement givers. Jon wanted to desperately help, but his body in the dream did not allow him to move. No matter how badly the statement givers pleaded and begged, Jon could not move. It was torture. 

A soft shake awoke Jon. Relieved that the dreams were over Jon opened his eyes. Martin was standing in front of the bed again, a mug in his hand, some books clutched under his other arm. 

“Hey,” Jon whispered with a husky voice.

“Hey,” Martin replied softly. 

“Brought you some tea while the food is cooking,” he said and handed Jon a steaming mug. “Oh and some books in case you wanted to read something,” he added and put three books down on the bedside table. 

Jon took a sip and then abruptly stopped. This was not how Martin’s tea normally tasted. It was sweeter, definitely more herbal and the texture of the milk told him that Martin had gone through the effort of heating it up creating a nice layer of foam on top. 

“Did you do something to the tea?” he asked Martin confused and Martin chuckled softly. 

“It’s not your usual breakfast tea,” he said. “It’s camomile with steamed milk, honey and cinnamon syrup.” 

“I am sorry it is _what_?” Jon’s aghast face turned Martin’s chuckle in a proper laugh. 

“Don’t look so shocked, it tastes really good,” he grinned. “Also herbal teas help with colds, hot milk with honey is great for calming down, as is camomile actually. And the cinnamon is just to add some flavour.” 

Jon gave his mug a very questioning look. Even though the sip he had taken had not been bad, the combination sounded atrocious. 

“Oh come on, try some more,” Martin encouraged Jon. “For me.” 

Because of his fever, Jon could not feel any burning spread across his face, but he knew that he was flushed. He knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Martin. Even if that included drinking the most perverted mixture of tea, milk and spices. 

Hesitantly, he took another sip. Not taken by surprise this time, Jon allowed himself to truly taste the flavour of the mixture. To his astonishment Martin was right. It tasted oddly nice. Quite delicious actually. He took another sip. 

“Told you,” Martin said with a soft smile, and Jon tried to hide his face behind his mug. Martin apparently didn’t seem to notice what his smile did to Jon. How should he, for all Martin knew Jon was his boss. Maybe a friend. God, Jon hoped Martin did consider him at least a friend. Sure, Martin may have had, allegedly, a crush on Jon, but that didn’t mean that he truly liked Jon as a person. Especially not now that he was becoming a monster. 

Quickly, Jon took another sip before his thoughts could spiral anymore. Martin gave him a little nod, before disappearing out of the bedroom to continue to cook. 

Once he left Jon groaned and buried his face in a pillow. The fact that the pillow smelled so much like Martin that if Jon closed his eyes he felt like he was pressing his face against Martin’s chest, didn’t make this any easier. 

After a minute he had a look at the books that Martin had left him. The first one was a poetry anthology that Jon already tossed aside. The other one was _The Secret History_ by Donna Tart and the last one was _Frankenstein_. Brutual murder in academia or a monster trying to cling to its humanity, how fitting, Jon thougth bitterly. The poetry anthology it was.

Just like the weird tea mix Martin had brought him earlier, Jon found himself minding the poetry actually not that much. He was stuck on a Walt Whiteman poem when Martin returned to the bedroom, balancing a hot bowl of soup in his hands. 

Jon couldn’t really smell much, his nose was still clogged up, but the bit that he could make out smelled incredibly delicious. Cautiously, he took the bowl and a spoon from Martin, trying his best not to spill any on the bed. 

Jon dipped the spoon into the soup, lifted it to his lips, blew on it a bit to let it cool down before putting it in his mouth. The moment he tasted the soup a moan escaped him. 

“This is amazing,” Jon had to try his best not to let out another embarrassing noice. The warm liquid was soothingly running down his throat, and settingling pleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It was full of flavour, the chicken tender, the vegetables just the right amount of cooked. Hints of pepper, all spice and bay leaves tingled across his tongue. 

“Ehh, it’s just some simple Rosół,” Martin said before clarifying, “Polish chicken noodle soup.”

Eagerly, Jon dipped his spoon again into the soup.

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook,” he said, between bites. 

“I mean _I can’t_ ,” Martin hurried to say. “Except for this. My grandmother taught me how to cook it when we visited her in Poland during the summer when I was a child.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you speak Polish,” Jon admitted before continuing to eat his soup.

“Not as good as I used to,” Martin replied looking suddenly saddened. “The Polish part is on my dad’s side of the family. Once he left my mum didn’t really allow me to speak it. Always went on about how it was important to suppress the Polish accent and speak as little as possible. Can’t let anyone know your not fully English” 

Jon just nodded. He knew exactly what Martin meant. His own Punjabi was a bit rusty because his grandmother had refused to speak it. _People like you and I cannot allow ourselves to stick out, especially not with something that may be considered a fault by them_ , her words echoed in his head. It was why in uni and when he had originally started as head archivist he had tried to speak the most standard English accent with as much poshness as possible. Some of his lecturers and Elias had been the perfect people to copy and Jon resented them and their privileged, arrogant asses for it. 

Though Jon knew that his grandmother had done it to actually protect him, with Martin’s mother he was not quite so sure. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had refused to let Martin speak Polish because she had hated his dad so much. Everytime Martin mentioned her, Jon despised her more and more. 

“Do you still talk to your grandmother?” he asked, trying to change the topic slightly. A small smile appeared on Martin’s lip. 

“Yes,” he said. “We still call each other about once a month. The only reason I have not totally lost my Polish.” 

“Well next time you call her, tell her thanks for the soup. It’s delicious,” Jon said and put another spoon in his mouth enthusiastically. Martin turned slightly pink at the compliment. Given that he couldn’t cook, Jon imagined that his soup being praised must have been really nice for Martin. 

“Might be the best soup I ever had actually,” he added and it wasn’t even a lie to flatter Martin. It really was just the perfect soup.

“Oh, shush,” Martin waved him off. “It’s just soup.” 

“Well it is really good,” Jon insisted and Martin finally accepted the compliment, his smile turning into a grin.

They chatted for a while longer, mainly Martin, since Jon’s voice was still raspy and he was busy eating. It was nice. It reminded Jon of their lunch meetups and oh how he longed for those simpler times. Instead of mourning the past he instead chose to focus on Martin who currently was passionately rambling about the baby ducklings he had seen in the park earlier that week. Jon was so incredibly fond of him.

The next day Jon should have felt better. Martin had not only provided him with tea, soup and rest, he had also brought Jon coughing syrup and other cold medicine. 

And yet, Jon felt worse. Probably because his sleep was horrific. Every time he closed his eyes he found himself trapped in another person’s nightmare, unable to interact or intervene. It had only gotten worse.

“Do you think it’s because you haven’t done a new statement in a while?” Martin asked over breakfast. 

Jon considered it. The last statement he had gotten was from Mike Crew and that had been 3 days ago. Usually he could go about a week, maybe 10 days before he needed another statement. On the other hand he never had had nightmares so badly when working in the archives. 

“I don’t–” his sentence was interrupted by a horrible cough. “I don’t know,” he whispered. He had almost lost his voice completely. 

“I mean I have files here,” Martin said, “but there is no use since you can’t record them without a voice.” 

“Why–” cough, “Why do you have files here?” Jon asked, clutching his hand against his hurting chest. 

“Hm? Oh, just for research,” Martin said. “Well...uhm...and I have started recording them.”

“You have been reading statements?” Jon croaked. He knew what reading statements could do to a person. Sure he needed them to feed, but every time he read a statement he would exhaustedly slumb down on his desk, unable to move for the next half an hour. 

“Yeah, thought it might help,” Martin said. “You know feed the Eye, trying to keep some of the pressure off you.” 

The sentiment was sweet, and Jon appreciated it, but he worried about Martin. He did not want Martin to feel that gut wrenching dread that echoed from the fear of the statement givers. Jon knew what it was like to be pulled into a statement, to experience the written word first hand, and based on Martin’s facial expression he had already gone through it too. 

“Does it help when you listen to tapes? I mean that has worked before right?” Martin suddenly interrupted Jon’s thoughts. Jon considered it. He had listened to his fair share of Gertrude’s tapes and it always seemed to have been enough for the Eye and for himself. 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” he wheezed, much to Martin's worry. 

“Okay, you go back to bed, I’ll go get the tapes,” Martin said and was already up to rummage through one of his shelves. With a sigh, Jon dragged himself back to bed. 

Moments later Martin came back, carrying a big box, filled to the brim with tapes.Jon was frankly horrified by the amount of tapes that were in the box. Martin had clearly been recording far too many statements. 

“Martin,” Jon started, his voice pained. He wanted to tell Martin to take it a lot more easy in the future, but also that he was thankful for the help. But before he could, Martin just shushed him.

“No more speaking for you, your voice is already beyond gone,” he said and Jon shut his mouth. “Also relax. Some of them Basira gave to me now that the investigation against you is closed. Not all of them are from me. Some of them might actually be from Gertrude if you fancy hearing her voice” Martin joked. That at least calmed Jon a bit. Martin put a tape into the tape player and handed the headphones to Jon. 

As Jon started to play the tape Martin gave him a quick wave before leaving the bedroom again to go to work. Jon had wanted to come with originally, but after his night he hadn’t even portested much. Plus he was definitely not in the mood to run past Elias. 

He didn’t want to think about Elias, not now. He deserved rest. Instead he closed his eyes and listened to Martin’s voice reading the statements. Despite the horrible, horrible encounters, Martin’s voice was calming and soothing. Jon started to slowly feel better. 

During his third tape Jon fell asleep.

This time the nightmares were dulled, not as vivid and violent as usual, more blurry. Nevertheless they were still far too intense, too painful. There was still nothing Jon could do. 

Suddenly, he felt a hand caressing his cheek and soothingly whispered words. 

“It’s okay Jon,” Jon’s eyes fluttered open and saw that Martin was standing above him. “It’s okay, just a bad dream.” 

Jon melted into the touch of Martin’s hand. His whole body was shivering and for once he was not burning with fever, but freezing. Martin’s other hand reassuringly started to stroke Jon’s arm. The touch helped, but it was not enough. 

“I’ll go get you a hot water bottle,” Martin said. “Can’t have you shivering like that.” To Jon’s panic Martin lifted his hands off Jon’s body and started to move away.

Instinctively, Jon’s arm reached out. His fist grabbed Martin’s jumper and he pulled Martin closer. Martin let out a little surprised gasp. 

“Don’t leave,” Jon whined. He didn’t want to be alone right now, didn’t want the nightmares to return. He didn’t want Martin to be gone. 

Jon pressed his head into the pillow, hiding his face, hoping Martin wouldn’t notice the tears that had started streaming down his cheeks.

“Okay,” he heard Martin whisper. Relieved Jon felt how moments later the mattress dipped and Martin climbed into bed next to him. 

Normally Jon should have been embarrassed about how needy he was being but Jon was too feverish to care. If anything the fever gave him plausible deniability, not that it really mattered at this point. Right now, all that Jon wanted was for Martin to stay and to hold him. A quiet moan escaped his lips when Martin finally wrapped his arms around Jon’s shivering body. His back pressed against Martin’s chest Jon drifted off again. 

When Jon woke up in the morning he was alone. Martin must have left at some point after Jon had fallen asleep. At least there had been no feverish nightmares that night. Jon’s body felt better already, but his heart ached.

*********

If it had been up to Martin he would have forced Jon to stay at least a whole week longer in his flat. 4 days were not enough to recover properly from what Jon had gone through.

But at the same time Martin felt quite guilty. The entire time Jon had stayed at his flat, Martin had felt like he had been taking advantage of Jon; giving Jon his clothes to wear, making him stay in bed, allowing himself to touch Jon constantly under the pretense to check if Jon was alright. Okay, the last one was not true, at least not partially. He had actually checked up on Jon, taken his temperature, cleaned his wounds, but Martin always had let his hands linger for just a moment. 

In his fever frenzy Jon had even occasionally leaned into the touch or even reached out for Martin and that only made Martin feel worse. Jon had not been able to think clearly, sometimes clinging to Martin’s arms like they were a secret oasis in which no evil could find him. 

And Martin had allowed himself to enjoy being needed like that, had enjoyed how Jon had melted into this touch. Now guilt was eating itself slowly through Martin from the inside out. 

So after Jon had declared that he needed to get back to work this morning, Martin had not protested but just nodded. The Stranger and the Circus wouldn’t stop ending the world just because Martin wanted to hold Jon tightly. 

At least it felt nice arriving at the institute together. Martin tried his hardest not to daydream about how they could always arrive together if they were dating, stepping into the archives holding hands, slowly and unwillingly untangling their fingers when Jon had to go to his office and Martin joined the others. 

It was a stupid daydream, especially since Jon rushed past Martin into his own office as soon as they entered the archive, not even saying a single word to Martin. Martin let out a sigh, of course this would happen. Why did he think the past few days had changed everything? 

Jon was probably just embarrassed about how Martin had been taking care of him and most definitely needed his space after all the touches that had passed between the two. They hadn’t talked about it, any of it. And that was probably for the best. This way they could just ignore that it all had happened. Pretending like Martin had not softly caressed Jon’s cheek and like Jon had not pulled Martin into bed with him demanding to be held. Martin would just have to forget about it.

With yet another sigh he entered the office. Tim and Melanie were already in, both going through a book about famous clowns. Basira was sitting in the corner going over a statement. All three looked up as Martin put his coat and bag on his table. 

“The boss man back today?” Tim greeted him. Martin just nodded. 

“Went straight to his office though,” he said and Tim rolled his eyes. 

“Typical.” 

“I guess,” Martin shrugged. He was not in the mood to get into another Jon fight with Tim. Instead he offered to make tea for Tim and Basira and coffee for Melanie. Tim declined but Basira and Melanie accepted his offer and Melanie even gave him a small smile.

Martin had been a bit standoffish towards both of them when they had first come into the archives. Mainly, and he was a bit too ashamed to admit it, because he had been jealous of them. Basira he had thought, thanks to Tim, had been dating Jon. And Melanie had been the one to be in contact with Jon while he was in hiding. It had been childish, so Martin now tried to make up for it. 

He was in the kitchen, preparing their mugs, when Jon decided to leave his office. Martin was too focused on getting the right amount of milk for Basira’s tea that he didn’t hear Jon approach. 

“Sorry for rushing off like that,” he suddenly said behind Martin, making him jump. When Martin turned around Jon stood far closer than Martin had expected. If Martin took one step forward their chests would be touching. Martin desperately tried to remember how to breathe. “But I had something important to check up on,” Jon added. 

“It’s fine,” Martin squeaked. God, Jon stood so close that Martin could see the delicate, wavy pattern in Jon’s gorgeous, dark brown eyes. They were mesmerizing, radiating so much warmth and had such a depth that it was far too easy to get lost in. 

“Still a bit rude of me,” Jon’s voice was low and soft. He didn’t seem at all affected by the lack of space between them, which was incredibly unfair, Martin thought. 

“So what did you find,” he whispered back. 

“Come, I’ll show you and the others,” Jon said and suddenly his hand wrapped around Martin’s wrist and he pulled him along. “I owe Melanie, Basira, and Tim a talk and some answers anyways.” 

Martin’s heart stopped. Sure, Jon had grabbed his wrist like that before, but only to pull Martin away from the not!them threatening their lives. Jon’s grip had been so tight it had hurt and he had dragged Martin away with far too much force. Now his fingers were gently closed around Martin’s wrist and Jon was more guiding him softly than dragging him. It was bewildering. 

Once Martin’s brain was semi functional at least again, he concluded that this was simply the aftermath of the kidnapping and the fever. Jon probably longed for a friendly touch, that was all. Martin really should not read anything into it. 

Not even into the fact that when they arrived at the assistants’ office, Jon did not _just_ let go of Martin’s wrist. Instead he tenderly let his index and middle finger glide down over Martin’s wrist, across his palm, down his fingers, hooking the tips of his fingers under Martin’s for a second before fully letting go. 

Martin was so puzzled he was still staring at his own hand before Jon’s voice knocked him back to reality. God, he hoped the other’s hadn’t seen that, their teasing would be relentless. 

“Hello,” Jon said slightly awkwardly, and everyone looked up from their work. “I...uhm...firstly wanted to thank all of you for taking care of me. I know I have not been the most pleasant person to be around lately, to put it lightly,” he said directly looking at Tim now. “And I am sorry for that. I truly am.”

“‘s alright,” Tim mumbled, not able to meet Jon’s gaze. They still had a lot of talking to do in private, but it was a start. Martin was proud of them both. 

“Basira, have Melanie and Tim filled you in about the Circus and the Unknowing?” Jon asked. 

“They have,” Basira said plainly. Martin got the feeling that she was not really a big talker. 

“Good,” Jon exhaled deeply before continuing. “I assume you all also have some questions you would like to ask.” 

“Yeah what exactly happened in the tunnels? You were very vague about that in your...instructions?” Tim asked. “Also where is Sash–….the not!them?” 

“Helen’s got her,” Jon replied before catching the confused looks from Martin, Tim, and Basira. 

“Who is Helen?” Melanie asked. 

“I mean Michael. Well what used to be Michael. It’s now Helen,” Jon hurried to explain. “They did some sort of identity switch. Either way when Leitner and I were running from the not!them, Michael, now Helen, came and took her, said it’ll let her back out once she is her old self.” 

Tim pressed his lips together to a thin line and nodded. Martin automatically put his hand reassuringly on Tim’s arm, he could feel Tim trembling. He was also so proud of Tim for not lashing out in anger, Martin knew how hard this was for Tim. He was still working on his way to forgive Jon, especially since Jon was so easy to falsely blame for everything, but Martin also knew that Tim missed being friends with Jon. 

“And then you ended up in your office, you left to go smoke, and Elias came down and butchered Leitner?” Melanie asked. 

“Yes, that is what happened,” Jon said, “the rest you know.” 

“So what’s the plan now? We have been researching a lot, but nothing solid has shown up yet, just lots of scary clowns,” Melanie said with a sigh and leaned back against her desk. 

“Well I _may_ have a lead,” Jon finally admitted. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Melanie raised her eyebrows, and a curious look formed on both of Basira’s and Tim’s face. Martin was the only one not surprised. He knew that Jon had listened to one of Gertrude’s tapes and afterwards he had been very antsy to get back to the institute. 

“When I was sick,” Jon started to explain, “Martin kindly provided me with tapes to listen to.” Martin could feel himself blush, but no one else thankfully seemed to notice. “One of the tapes was actually from Gertrude. She talked about stopping the Unknowing and how she didn’t know how. But she did plan to go abroad to look for more answers. Unfortunately I don’t know if she found any.” 

“Sounds very helpful,” Melanie let out a sarcastic remark. 

“I thought so too,” Jon admitted. “But then at the end of the recording I heard a very familiar creak.”

“A _creak_?” Basira asked. 

“Yes, a creak,” Jon repeated. “In the back of my office there is a loose floorboard. I once accidentally tripped and lifted it up in the process of falling. Under it there is a secret compartment. I never truly looked under through it because I was in a hurry. But the floorboard covering the secret compartment makes the exact same creak you can hear on the tape.”

Martin looked up in surprise. This was news to him. He knew about the tape and the potential lead, but Jon had not mentioned anything about a secret compartment. 

“In the secret compartment I found Gertrude’s old laptop,” Jon continued. “As i suspected she traveled quite a lot in her search to take down the Stranger. So the best thing for me to do is follow her journey, to see what she found.”

Martin did not like in what direction this was headed at all. Yes, finding information about the Stranger was important, but not if Jon was going away again. Especially with his talent of running into danger. His old wounds had barely started to heal, was it really time to create possibilities for new ones already? No, Martin did not like the idea of Jon going on some monstrous treasure hunt journey.

“I’ll be flying to China tomorrow,” Jon said and Martin wanted to scream in frustration. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked this chapter. As always feel free to leave some comments/kudos they always make my day. 
> 
> Also follow me on [tumblr](https://simpingfortimstoker.tumblr.com/) if you fancy.
> 
> The tea Martin is making Jon is called an Autumn Fog and it is the most delicious tea on the planet! 
> 
> The song Martin is singing is [Almost (Sweet Music)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJ9IX4zgyLs) by Hozier
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [Two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrDzd4ufypE) by Sleeping At Last


	11. I missed you more than I thought I would

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finally here, sorry that this took so long but this chapter and I did not get along at all!! Hope you still like it though :)

Martin tried his best not to be upset. There was no point, Jon would go whether Martin was angry with him or not. If anything, yelling at Jon about his reckless decisions and utter lack of self care would only make things worse. All Martin could do was to try to bring Jon to take better care of himself on his journey. 

So when the evening of Jon’s departure approached, Martin walked over to Jon’s office a small package held tightly in his left hand. For the first time in quite a while Martin was nervous knocking on Jon’s door before opening it. 

To his surprise when he entered Jon’s office, Jon was not alone. Both he and Tim were leaning against the front of Jon’s desk

“Oh, sorry, I can come back later,” Martin started but Tim interrupted him. 

“It’s alright, Martin,” he said. “I was leaving anyway.” Then he straightened up and rolled his shoulders. Before leaving however, he put his hand on Jon’s shoulder and Jon looked up and into his face. 

“Take care of yourself, okay Jon?” Tim said and all Jon could do was nodd. Then Tim gave Jon’s shoulder a short squeeze, before he left Martin and Jon alone in the office. 

Slowly, Martin approached Jon, who was still leaning against the desk, palms pressed on the edge. 

“Are you two...?” Martin asked tentatively and Jon nodded. 

“We are getting there, yeah,” Jon sounded exhausted but the fact that he was slowly making up with Tim but the fairest hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Good, that’s….” Martin was struggling to find any words. “Good.”

“Yeah.” 

They both were unable to look each other in the eyes. Martin felt ridiculous. They had held hands, hugged, cuddled up in bed together for christ sake and now they couldn’t get simple goodbyes over their lips? 

“This is for you,” Martin said and held out the small package, still not looking at Jon. He felt Jon reaching out for the package, his hands brushing against Martin and a sudden panic filled him. This was an incredibly stupid gift. Who even gave their boss a parting gift. Taking care of Jon to this extent while he was half unconscious and in dire need of help was one thing, but right now it felt almost inappropriate. 

“It’s just a thermos with some soup, I know how awful airplane food can be. And some cough medicine and a scarf if the cold gets worse. I mean obviously you don’t have to take this. I just want you to take care of yourself, god I probably sound so patronizing right now. Sorry, just ignore it, I–….”

“Martin,” Jon interrupted his bubbling softly. Martin finally looked into Jon’s face, which turned out to be a mistake. Jon looked at him with so much adoration that it knocked the air out of Martin’s lungs. 

“Thank you, it’s perfect,” Jon basically whispered, his fingers still resting next to Martin’s hands on the package.

“No problem,” Martin croaked, before letting go of the parcel. Jon took it and opened it. The first thing he took out was the scarf.

“Oh, this scarf is lovely,” Jon said and started to wrap it around his throat. “Is that the one you planned on knitting?” 

Martin turned the same shade of red as the scarf. Martin had hoped Jon wouldn’t remember Martin’s red wool and his plan to knit a scarf, but apparently he had no such luck. But before he could reply, the door to Jon’s office suddenly opened and Basira stepped in. Martin had never been so happy and simultaneously been so disappointed to see her

“Jon, your cab is here,” she informed him. 

With a deep sigh, Jon stepped away from his desk and walked towards his door, Martin’s package tightly clutched under his arm. 

“Well, I’ll see you,”

“Yeah, see you.” 

It almost looked like Jon wanted to add something, his lip trembling slightly and Martin felt the same. There was so much he wanted to say,  _ stay safe _ ,  _ I’ll miss you, call me, I love you. _ But he didn’t and neither did Jon. He just gave them one last nodd and left Martin and Basira alone in his office.

If Basira noticed the weird tension between Martin and Jon she thankfully didn’t comment on it. 

At least not until a few nights later, after she and Melanie had dragged Tim and Martin out to the pub. 

“So you and Jon, huh?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. Martin almost spat out his drink, Melanie laughed, Tim patted Martin on the back. 

“What do you mean?” Martin tried to play dumb. “Yes, I like him. He is my boss, that is it.” 

“I think Basira means,” Tim chimed in. “You and Jon were all cooped up together for 4 days in your flat.”

“And he was all vulnerable and needy,” Melanie added.

“And  _ you _ like to take care of people.” 

“And now neither of you can look the other in the eye and yet you are constantly staring at each other,” Basira finished. 

“He is not staring at me,” Martin hissed. Of course Jon wasn’t, why would he. The others were just trying to rile him up.

“Have to disagree there, Marto,” Tim said and handed him a shot. Martin exed it gladly. “He is also constantly in your personal space nowadays.”

“Yeah, and did you two not basically hold hands on his first day back?” Melanie grinned. 

Damn, so they had all seen that moment of Jon’s fingers lingering on Martin’s. If Martin was honest, he didn’t know how to explain that one either. However, he was sure that Jon did not like him back. At least not in that way. The next shot found its way easily into Martin’s hand and down his throat.

“Georgie!” Melanie ripped Martin out of his thoughts. “Over here!” She waved to a tall black woman, with purple dyed curls, who had just entered the pub and upon spotting them made her way over to their table. 

“Hey, babe,” she said and bent down to give Melanie a quick kiss on the lips. Martin hadn’t thought that it was possible for Melanie to blush, but a faint pink spread across her face. 

“Guys,” she said quickly and turned to the others. “This is Georgie, my girlfriend.” They all gave Georgie a quick nod. Melanie scooched over letting Georgie sit next to her in the booth, taking Georgie’s left hand as soon as she had sat down. 

“And this is Basira, Tim and,” Melanie made a dramatic pause pointing at Martin. “ _ This _ is Martin.” 

“Oh, so you’re the one Jon has been so hung up on,” Georgie said with a cheeky smile. “He has it really bad, trust me we used to date.”

Martin took another shot, it would be a long night. 

The next morning came with two things: one of the worst hangovers Martin had had in ages and secondly a call from Jon. 

“Hi, Jon,” he groaned after picking up his phone. God, his head hurt. 

_ “Are you alright? You sound strange.”  _

“Yes, just….” Martin was embarrassed to admit it. “Melanie and Basira dragged both me and Tim out drinking last night and apparently I’m not 21 anymore.” 

He very purposefully did not mention meeting Georgie. This was not a conversation Martin was ready to have this hangover and on the phone. He could hear Jon chuckle before an almost heavy silence settled between them. 

_ “How is Melanie, after….you know?”  _ Jon asked awkwardly. 

Martin shuddered thinking about the incident. He had been the one to find Melanie. Half passed out on the stairs to the archive, body rigid, nothing but pain and horror in her eyes. None of them had known that she had planned to kill Elias. They knew she had  _ wanted _ to, but none of them had expected her to actually try. 

Apart from Elias. Of course he had Known. He had awaited Melanie in anticipation, eagerly to show more of his powers, scaring his employees even further into submission. 

And it had worked. Elias had just let a few crucial details slip into Melanie’s mind about how her father had died and Melanie had been a mess. 

Martin should have been angry that Melanie had considered risking all their lives like that. After all Elias words –  _ If I die, they die –  _ were still very present in Martin’s mind. 

But it was impossible to be mad at Melanie as she had been turned into an empty shell, tears spilling over her face frozen in terror. Melanie, who was strong and fearless and willing to fight everyone and everything. Seeing her undone and afraid like that broke something in Martin.

The worst thing had been that Martin didn’t know how to comfort her. He knew that tea wouldn’t help and he knew that Melanie did not particularly enjoy being touched and beyond that Martin was always rather awkward at comforting people. Finding the right words was, despite being a poet, very hard. 

Tim on the other hand, had known exactly what to do. He, too, knew what it meant to drown in the tide of anger mixed with fear and sadness. 

“Better, I think?” Martin replied. “Tim is taking her kickboxing almost every day and that seems to help. Both of them,” he added. “Plus she is excited to go on her India trip in a few days. Elias finally released the funding. Probably happy not to have someone trying to kill him around all the time.” 

“I can imagine,” Jon said. Once again a silence fell over them, but this time it was comfortable. Martin listened to the small noises of Jon breathing allowing himself to be calmed by this little confirmation that Jon was still alive. 

“So...uhm, have you found anything?” Martin eventually broke the silence, because he could feel something stupid forming in his mouth bubbling against his lips, threatening to spill over any second if he didn’t get Jon talking again. 

_ “No, the statement that Gertrude read about The Unknowing is no longer here,” _ Jon sounded tired at the other end of the line.  _ “Apparently she sent it to an address in the States.” _

“Oh,” Martin hesitated for a second. “So I assume that means you are not coming ho–...back?” 

_ “Not yet,” _ Jon sighed.  _ “I hopefully find more in Chicago. I also might swing by Pittsburgh since that’s the last place Gerry Keay was seen alive and we know he traveled with Gertrude trying to stop the Unknowing.”  _

“And you think him dying might have been significant?” Martin didn’t want to outright say it, but Gertrude’s assistants all had died one way or the other, the might not have been anything special about Gerry Keay’s death. 

Also he might have been a tad jealous since Jon had always taken great interests in statements that featured Gerry. Unsurprising given that Gerry had destroyed Leitners for a living and Martin knew how much Jon hated Leitners. He tried to swat the feeling away, it was stupid and Martin knew there was no actual reason to be jealous. Especially not of dead people. 

_ “That’s what I am hoping to find out.” _

“Please be careful.”

_ “Always am,” _ Jon said and both of them couldn't help but snort because the alternative would have been crying. 

“Shall I send you some statements to the American address?” Martin asked suddenly. “Just in case you need longer than expected or no one actually has a statement to give.” 

_ “That….that’s very thoughtful of you,” _ Jon said and Martin knew he hadn’t even thought about the fact that he now needed the statements to survive.  _ “Yeah...that….that would be nice. I’ll text you the American address.”  _

“Okay.”

_ “Okay.” _

Martin didn’t want to hang up and he liked to imagine that Jon was feeling similar. Mainly because Jon hadn’t hung up either. They had said everything that had needed to be said, passed on the information they had needed to pass on and now there was no logical reason to continue this conversation. No logical reason other than wanting to hear the voice of the other. 

Once again Martin could feel words gliding over his tongue pushing against his lips that he shouldn’t speak. Instead he hurried to say, “I should really get back to work.” He paused for a second before adding, “I don’t know if you knew this but my workplace is a huuuuuuge mess that needs a lot of organising.”

That made Jon laugh so hard that Martin found himself enchanted by the noise. Jon had a very pretty, barking laugh, and Martin got to hear it so rarely. 

“Plus I don’t think my boss would be happy to catch me on the phone during working hours.” 

_ “I feel like today he really wouldn’t mind,”  _ there was so much sincerity in Jon’s voice that Martin was taken aback. 

“Ah, better not risk it,” Martin joked weakly and the spell was broken. 

“Alright,” Jon inhaled deeply. “I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“Bye.” It took all of Martin’s concentration, not to end the phone call with ‘ _ love you’ _ . 

As soon as Jon had hung up Martin let out a deep sigh and laid his head on his table. The cool surface was a bliss for the pounding in his head, though it did not calm the pounding of his heart. 

Martin didn’t know how much more of this charged tension that had developed between the two ever since Jon had returned from his many kidnappings he could take. Maybe he would tell Jon how he felt once Jon was back. The thought made Martin laugh. He was not a brave man, and he knew he’d rather suffer through more of that strange tension than to confess his feelings to Jon. 

The archives always felt strange when Jon was not in. Like an integral part was missing, and a hollow emptiness was spreading from the hole where Jon should have been. 

Today it was worse than usual. Melanie was in India, Tim was out for the afternoon, working out and Basira was following up a case in the Midlands leaving Martin in the archives all by himself. And today he was feeling especially alone. 

A few days had passed since his last call with Jon and other than a text giving Martin Jon’s american address, to which he dutifully had sent a parcel filled with statements, there hadn’t been much communication between Jon and Martin. It was hard to focus on recording a statement, when his thoughts constantly drifted back to Jon. Martin really really missed him, but at least he knew that Jon was okay. 

He had been so deep in thought that he had not noticed someone entering the archive. Martin only noticed after that someone cleared their throat startling Martin, and Martin looked up to see a stranger standing in front of his desk. 

“Sorry, you can’t be here,” Martin said automatically. “Staff only.”

This seemed to amuse the stranger. He was even taller than Martin, with broad shoulders, and eyes in such an icy grey that it was hard to look him directly in the face. Still a smile was tucked on his lips that would have seemed genuine if it hadn’t been for his unreachable eyes.

“I have an appointment with Elias,” the man simply said. “He said it was okay to have a look around while he is finishing his current meeting.” 

Martin just stared at him not knowing what exactly to say. He didn’t seem threatening, but if he was meeting with Elias, he probably was someone who Martin should better not cross. 

“Oh, also how rude of me,” he said and held out his hand for Martin to shake. “Peter Lukas.” 

Martin tried not to show the panic that was churning in his stomach. He looked at Peter’s hand and hesitated, after all Martin had read about the Lukas family. He didn’t know which entity they belonged to, but it was obvious that Peter was an avatar and Martin knew what had happened the last time Jon had shaken an avatar’s hand. 

But the Lukas family had not been involved in any statements about fire or heat Martin remembered. Quite the opposite actually. And maybe not shaking Peter’s hand was worse, you didn’t want to offend an avatar after all. 

Reluctantly Martin took his hand and regretted it immediately. It did burn, but not in the way fire burned. It felt like Martin had dunked his hand in ice water, every single of his nerve endings was on fire. He couldn’t help but let out a yelp.

Peter’s hands were big, clasping Martin’s tightly. His thumb easily reached Martin’s wrist, giving it a quick stroke and Martin felt like life was floating out of his body. 

And then it was over. Peter let go of his hand and gave him a smile that actually looked like he meant it. 

“Nice to see you,” he said and gave a weirdly over the top glance to Martin’s badge. “Martin.” Then he left the archives, leaving a startled Martin behind. 

There was something strangely familiar about Peter Lukas. The same way there was something familiar about nameless people at big family functions coming up to you telling you they already knew you when you were this little and hold their hands just above their knees. 

The way Peter had introduced himself was still playing on Martin’s mind.  _ Nice to see you _ , instead of  _ nice to meet you _ , implied that there already had been a first meeting. That Peter had known Martin for quite some while. The thought made Martin uneasy and he was nervously rubbing his fingers together, hoping the numb feeling the cold had left would disappear soon. 

Martin suddenly had the urge to call Jon. He took out his phone, but then stopped and stared at it. It felt stupid. What was he supposed to say,  _ hey, I think I just ran into an avatar and he made me feel cold and now I’m scared please comfort me _ ? Jon had been through far worse, and here Martin was losing it over Peter Lukas. 

Martin jumped as the phone in his hand started to vibrate.  _ Incoming call from Jon Sims _ , it read on the display.

*********

Jon was absolutely exhausted when he arrived in America. His research in China had been a massive bust, the jet legg was killing him, and he just wanted to be home. He also couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed, but he tried to ignore it as best as he could. He couldn’t afford for the paranoia to flare up again. 

Grumpily he looked at the selection of tea flavours on his hotel room bar. His choice was between fruity strawberry tea (which really shouldn’t be a tea) and a bag labeled simply black tea. What kind of black tea it didn’t specify. At least there was a kettle and Jon didn’t have to heat up the water in a microwave. 

There were two packs of sugar but no milk, and annoyed Jon lifted the ‘black tea’ to his lips. Like expected it tasted awful. Instinctively, Jon took out his phone to text Martin about the horrific tea torture he had to endure, when it happened. 

A bone splintering chill ripped through Jon, making him topple over and he almost dropped his mug. The air in his lungs hurt and he could see how a tiny cloud escaped his mouth as he tried to exhale. 

And just as suddenly as it had started it stopped. 

Carefully Jon put the mug on the desk, sunk down on the floor and pressed his knees into his chest, hoping to regain some warmth.

What the fuck had just happened, he wondered. Jon leaned his head back against the desk. Automatically his hands tangled themselves in Martin’s red scarf. Jon had never been so glad to have it with him. He wrapped it tighter around himself and closed his eyes. As soon as they were closed for a second an image of Martin flashed through Jon’s mind . He was standing alone in the archives, paler than usual, his face covered in fear and fog. 

Jon shot up, the cold in his body replaced by dread. He didn’t know why he had seen that vision of Martin, but he did know that he needed to hear Martin’s voice. Now. His hands had already dialed Martin's number.  


To Jon’s relief Martin picked up after the first ring. 

_ “Jon?” _ , as soon as Jon heard Martin’s voice the last bit of frost ebbed out of his body and warmth returned. 

“Martin what happened?” 

_ “I….I don’t know,” _ Martin hesitated, not questioning how Jon knew _that_ something had happened in the first place.  _ “I ran into Peter Lukas.” _

“What did he do to you,” Jon growled and he could feel his pulse speed up. He had disliked the Lukas family for a long time. If one of them had hurt Martin, Jon would happily hurt them back. 

_ “He...uhm….this is gonna sound silly,” _ Martin said.  _ “He shook my hand?”  _

“It’s not silly, Martin,” Jon reassured him, trying to control his emotions. “The Lukas family are dangerous people, you know the statements.” 

_ “Yeah,” _ Jon could hear how Martin was suppressing a sob and all he wanted to do was to be with Martin and to hold him. He tried to remember details about the statements he had read, what people who had run into the Lukas family and lived to tell the tale had done.

“Are you alone in the archives right now?” he asked. 

_ “Yes, everyone else is out.” _

“Can you reach any of them quickly?”

_ “I think so,” _ Martin let out another shaky breath.  _ “Tim is just at the gym.” _

“Good, call text him and ask him to come and get you,” Jon said firmly. “All the people who met the Lukas family were isolated. You need to be with people.”

"Okay, give me a second," Jon could hear Martin's fingers gliding over the screen of his phone followed by a quick vibration. "He's on his way," Martin informed him.

“I will stay with you on the phone until Tim arrives,” Jon promised,  


“You don’t have to, Jon.”

“Yes, but I want to,” he insisted. It was almost too close to a confession, but Jon didn’t care. He wanted to be there for Martin, and Martin needed him. And Jon needed Martin to be okay. 

He stayed on the phone for another 30 minutes talking about everything really that came to his mind. Mainly Jon gushed about the Admiral and shared embarrassing stories about his university time, which got a small chuckle out of Martin. 

Jon loved talking to Martin, but he was relieved when Tim’s voice suddenly appeared on the other end of the line, ensuring Jon that Tim had arrived and that he would take care of Martin. Even though he knew that Martin was no longer in danger now that he had Melanie and Tim, Jon still fell into a very restless sleep.

The next day was another bust. All Jon found out was that Gerry Keay had in fact died in Pittsburgh due to a seizure and he got the confirmation that Gertrude had been with him. But what the two of them had been doing in Pittsburgh in the first place remained a mystery. On top of that he still had the feeling someone was following him. 

The only good thing was a text from Martin informing him that he was doing better and that the statements had arrived at the hotel. 

Agitated Jon picked up the parcel from the reception. It was heavier than Jon had expected. Upon opening he found a few files and to his surprise next to them a box of tea bags, a handful of tapes and a quick note.

_ Hey Jon,  _

_ Here are some statements. I thought you might want some tapes in case your cold returns or you are too exhausted to record. Fair warning, I haven’t listened to them yet or filed them away so I don’t know if they will be of use. I also added some tea, I know how horrific America is when it comes to tea. _

_ Please stay safe. _

_ – Martin  _

Jon’s heart fluttered as he read the note. He couldn’t wait to be in London again and to see Martin again. Another yawn escaped his lips. Feeling already sleepy, he grabbed one of the tapes.

Listening to already recorded tapes never satiated Jon as much as recording a statement himself, but it would do right now. Tired from his long day, Jon climbed onto the bed, put the tape into the recorder, closed his eyes and pressed play. 

It was a statement recorded by Melanie, Jon was glad the other assistants had started to help Martin with the recordings. It was nothing of grave importance regarding the Unknowing so Jon just let her voice wash over him. Until the very end of the recording, when Basira’s voice suddenly appeared on the tape.

_ “Oh, sorry. I thought you were done already,” _ was the first thing Jon heard her say. 

_ “Almost,”  _ Melanie replied. 

_ “Cool, I just wanted to know if you are still up for the pub tonight?”  _ Basira asked. 

_ “Yes, I so need a drink.”  _

_ “Alright, you’ll get Tim when you’re ready, I’ll make sure Martin will  _ _ definitely  _ _ come as well!”  _ Basira sounded weirdly determined. 

_ “You are really eager to get Martin drunk, huh?”  _ Jon could literally hear Melanie smirk on the tape. 

_ “Well I want to know if he and Jon are….you know?” _

_ “Soulmates?” _ Melanie laughed.  _ “I don’t know. I mean I know that apparently when they first met Jon said Martin’s words. But Martin never read into it, the poor guy really has some of the most ordinary words.”  _

_ “Yeah, glad I don’t have ‘I’m sorry, what?’ written on my wrist.” _ Basira agreed.  _ “And Jon?” _

_ “Martin apparently didn’t say his words,” _ Melanie said.  _ “I mean if he had we would not be stuck in this horrible pining mess going on between them.”  _

_ “True,” _ there was a pause.  _ “Anyways meet you outside in 5?”  _

_ “Sure.”  _

The tape clicked off and Jon stared into the darkness of his hotel room, his heart beating at the frequency hummingbirds beat their wing at. 

It made sense. Jon knew. He had known the moment Martin told him about Peter Lukas and the dots had connected in Jon’s head. If he was honest he had always known. He had known the moment Martin had stepped into his office asking about a dog. With every cup of tea, every smile, every touch Jon had known that Martin was his soulmate. 

And he had repressed it, first out of self preservation. Keeping Martin at a distance meant keeping all the possibilities of getting hurt at a distance. And then, once Martin against all odds had breached that distance and Jon had found himself reaching out for Martin, he had denied it. If he didn’t acknowledge it, if he could hide it away in the darkness of not knowing it would be kept safe that precious, vulnerable oh so breakable unspoken bond between them. 

And it needed safe keeping. Martin needed to be kept safe. Jon shuddered in horror. If Elias knew. If he knew about Jon’s feelings for Martin it would already be horrible. But if he knew that they were soulmates Martin would be in incredible danger. Elias could use him easily as a tool to get whatever he wanted from Jon. But that didn’t scare Jon. The fact that Elias would happily hurt Martin, even if Jon obeyed perfectly, just because Elias was that cruel of a man, scared Jon. 

Suddenly there was a knock on his door. In retrospect, after having been kidnapped twice within a month, Jon should have known better. He also should have  _ Known _ better, than to blindly open his hotel door room even though he was expecting no one. 

This was how Jon found himself tied to a chair in a motel room by no one else than Julia Montauk, the daughter of Britain's most notorious serial killer, and Trevor Herbert, the not so dead vampire hunter. 

“We’ve been watching you,” Trevor revealed as he walked around Jon’s chair looking him up and down like he was a meal to be devoured. “The thing we are hunting has taken a special interest in you.” 

So Jon’s paranoia had not returned, there had been people and a monster following him. 

“And you’ve overpowered me and tied me to a chair, why?” Jon couldn’t hide the bite in his voice. Snarling at your captors was probably a bad idea, but to say that Jon was pissed off was an understatement. 

“Figured you make excellent monsterbait,” Trevor chuckled from behind Jon, his hands coming down on Jon’s shoulders, gripping them tightly. 

“So you’re what gonna get that monster to come out of hiding by keeping me locked up in my hotel room?”

“Oh no you’re coming on the road with us,” Julia replied. “We’ re just going to make sure you cooperate first.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” It was a stupid thing to say, but Jon was fed up. He was so tired of being kidnapped, of being thrown around, he was just so tired. 

As a response Julia took out a sharp hunting knife and moved towards him. If they thought a knife to his throat would scare Jon, they were mistaken. Nothing would ever scare him as much as Daisy had. Plus they needed him alive if he was supposed to be their bait, he had nothing to fear than just another scar. However, Julia seemed to have a different idea. 

Instead of pressing her knife against Jon’s throat, she grabbed his arm and in one smooth motion cut off his leather bracelet, revealing his tattoo. Now, Jon was scared. He tried to free himself from Trevor’s grip, but he was too weak. The moment Julia pressed her knife against his words, Jon’s body went limp and he didn’t dare to move.

“Look, either you can play nice and come along with no fuss,” Julia said with an evil smile. 

Cold sweat started to run down Jon’s back. He was unable to take his eyes away from where the pointy tip of the blade was gently pressed into his words. 

“Or you can act up and your soulmate pays the price,” Trevor added with a horrible smile. “So are you gonna behave?”

Jon nodded, still mortified. His heart was racing, he’d do anything as long as Julia would finally take the knife off his mark. At this point he didn’t mind getting hurt, but if Martin got hurt because of his stupidity, Jon would never be able to forgive himself. 

“Wonderful,” Julia chirped. “We’ll sort out our equipment and then it’s monster hunting time.”

They didn’t bother to untie Jon while they started to prepare their hunt. So while he sat on the chair, his legs shaking too much to hold him up, he watched Julia and Trevor going through their backpacks, taking out several knives, guns, and a book.

The book caught Jon’s interest, it seemed weirdly out of place amongst all the weapons. His insides started twisting when he recognized the familiar label on it. It was a Leitner. 

“What are you planning to do with that book?” Jon couldn’t hide the panic in his voice. Two human killers and a monster hunting him was one thing. But if they were planning on using a Leitner, Jon was not sure he had a chance to make it out alive. 

“Hm? Oh this?” Julia asked and held up the Leitner. “Don’t worry about that, that’s just Gerry, our personal ghost guide to anything supernatural.” 

“Gerry?” 

“He says that’s his name,” Trevor growled. Jon wondered briefly if he was able to speak without making an animalistic sound. “Got fed up with us calling him  _ ghost boy _ all the time.” 

Jon could now catch a better look at the title, it said  _ Catalogue of the Trapped Dead. _ The book Mary Keay had bound herself to. Could it be that Gerry Keay was bound to the book too? 

“Are you telling me that you have a book containing the...the ghost of Gerard Keay?” Jon asked breathlessly. If this was the case he needed to speak to Gerry. This could change everything. 

“Don’t know if this is his last name, but yes,” Julia replied. Jon’s thoughts were rushing. Gerry Keay was a ghost. A ghost who he could so easily talk to if he had access to the book. He needed to talk to him! 

“If I help you catch this monster and…. _ behave _ , will you let me go?” 

Julia shrugged. “Don’t think we’ll have another use for you after that. So yeah why not. One less body to get rid of after.” 

“And do you think I could speak with Gerry? Please,” Jon knew he was pushing his luck but he was so close to finally getting some answers that it was worth the risk. 

“Depends how useful you prove to be,” Trevor snarled. 

Fortunately, Jon proved himself to be excellent monsterbait and running high on the endorphins of their long awaited kill, Julia and Trevor left Jon alone in a motel room with the book containing Gerry Keay’s ghost. 

Jon’s hands were shaking as he opened the Leitner, flicking to the second last page. For a second nothing happened. Then the book started to vibrate and hum and Jon just about managed to place it on the floor before a half translucent figure shot out of the book.

Gerry Keay looked exactly like all the statement givers had described him. Long hair, with a bad black dye job, black clothes, and every bit of skin Jon could see was covered in tattoos of eyes. Gerry seemed surprised, but not very pleased to see Jon

“You’re not Julia and Trevor,” was the first thing he said. 

“No, I’m...I’m Jon Sims,” Jon said. “I’m the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.”

“Retired or dead?”

“Sorry what?”

“Gertrude,” Gerry clarified. “is she retired or is she dead.” 

“Oh,” Jon said. “The later I’m afraid.” 

“Makes sense,” Gerry tried to hide his feelings, but the pain in his eyes was visible. “So what gives me the honour of meeting the new Head Archivist?” 

“I need to know how to stop a ritual. The Unknowing,” Jon said. “I thought you might be able to tell me how to stop it.”

“I mean I was never present for Gertrude stopping rituals. She did that a lot before I joined her” Gerry admitted. “But what I know is that it’s all about interrupting the ritual right as it is happening.”

“That seems suspiciously easy,” Jon said before it hit. “Wait rituals? How many have there been?” 

“I mean the earliest recording Gertrude had of a failed ritual I believe was from 1955, but there will have been some before that.” Gerry explained. “It’s a never ending cycle, but there has to pass a certain time before a ritual can be attempted again. So you probably won’t have to stop another Slaughter ritual during your job thanks to the Vast.” 

“Wait, wait sorry, Slaughter and Vast?” Jon stopped him. “Those more entities right? How many are there exaclty?”

“You know surprisingly little for the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London,” Gerry said mockingly. 

“Yeah, well Elias loves to keep me in the dark,” Jon couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice. “I had to learn about the entities from Leitner and he was not….very specific.” 

“Sounds like him,” Gerry said before he kindly started to explain that there were in total 14 entities feeding off people's fears, based on a concept developed by the architekt Robert Smirk. Jon’s head started to hurt. He had hoped there might have been three maybe four, but 14? The world had never seemed so bleak before. 

“So if there are all these entities feeding off our fears,” Jon asked cautiously. “Are there also entities that feed off positive things?”

“Like joy, love, hope, sugar, spice and everything nice?” 

“So that’s a no then.”

“I mean some people like to think that soulmates are the opposite entity,” Gerry laughed a mirthless laugh. “But if you ask me, soulmates are just another way to evoke fear or for the entities to use you. I mean they mark your soul if you encounter them, like a claiming bite, and avatars become avatars by having a soulbound with them. But I don’t need to tell you that,” he added and gave Jon an almost pitiful look. 

“Can I stop it?” Jon asked, not daring to look Gerry directly in the eyes. “Becoming an avatar I mean. Gertrude resisted it, didn’t she?” 

“Yeah, well you just told me how that ended for her.” 

So there was no way for Jon out of this other than death. Fantastic. He wondered what that meant for the others, after all he had promised them that they would find a way to leave the institute. It was a lot to take in at once and Jon suddenly felt just very tired and beaten down. 

“But you can stop The Stranger and his ritual,” Gerry added, trying to somewhat cheer Jon up. “It’s what kept Gertrude sane, made her feel like she was not working for an evil fear god. It’s all the solace I can give you I’m afraid.” 

“Thanks,” Jon said. It was better than nothing. “Is there anything I could do for you?” 

Gerry’s eyes widened in surprise. The idea that someone would actually want to thank him for his work rather than treating him like a supernatural wikipedia apparently seemed strange to him. 

“You could burn me?” he whispered.

“Sorry, what?” Jon sat up in confusion. 

“My page I mean,” Gerry clarified quickly. “Once you burn it, I will be able to move on.”

It was a dangerous risk. Jon knew that if Julia and Trevor caught him, they would kill him instantly. They were not the type to forgive and forget. But on the other hand Gerry looked miserable. He hadn’t chosen his fate, he had been forced into it, and Jon knew that feeling just all too well. 

“I’ll do it,” he promised Gerry and in return Gerry gave him the brightest smile.

Jon was drenched in sweat after he left Julia and Trevor’s car at the airport, his shaky hands pressed tightly against his chest where he was hiding Gerry’s page under his shirt. He hoped to put as much distance as possible between himself and the two hunters, before they noticed that Gerry was missing. 

Sitting at his gate, waiting for his flight, Jon thought about everything he had learned.

The most depressing news was probably that there was nothing good to cancel out the fear entities. And while Gerry had been quite bitter, Jon was afraid that he was right about soulmates too. They didn’t cancel out the entities, instead they were just another perfect way to create fear the entities could feed off. He still felt the tip of Julia’s knife pressed against his tattoo and the panic he had felt knowing that she very easily could hurt Martin.

If the encounter with Julia and Trevor had taught Jon anything, it was that no one could ever know that Martin and he were soulmates. Especially not Martin. Sweet, brave Martin would find just the right words to convince Jon that he didn’t care about the danger as long as he could be with Jon. And how they would figure it out together and how the risk was worth it, how Jon was worth it. And Jon would cry and be overwhelmed and continue to argue with Martin. And eventually Jon would give in because how could he deny Martin anything? 

No, Jon decided, the best way to keep Martin safe was to not let him know. At least not until they had gotten rid of Elias. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your patience, I will to update once again at least every 7 days, but like with this chapter I can't promise.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please feel free to leave kudos or a comment they make my day <3
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [I found](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yj6V_a1-EUA) by Amber Run


	12. And here it is, our final night alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to up on Friday but my 15 year old self was having an emotional breakdown while my 23 year old self was busy dying of laughter about wonderful wonderful memes.

It was the early hours of the morning when Jon arrived back in London. Instead of heading home, he went to a small storage unit just on the outskirts of the city. During his flight he had had enough time to dig further through Gertrude’s laptop and if he interpreted her bank statements correctly, Gertrude had been renting a unit for years. 

The Beholding was so kind to provide him with the exact number and the ability to pick locks. Jon was glad that it was 4am and no one else was around to catch him breaking into the storage unit. 

To Jon’s disappointment the storage unit just contained normal boxes filled with normal books, normal old clothes, normal old knick knacks. There wasn’t even a Leitner under the books. 

What a bust, Jon thought annoyed before he opened the last box and his breath caught in the back of his throat. The box in front of him was filled with explosives to the brim. Jon swallowed, and slowly, very slowly and very carefully put the lid back on the box. 

So this was how Gertrude had planned on stopping The Unknowing. Going out with a bang, he thought cynically. But at least Jon now knew how to stop The Stranger. After Gerry had told him that it was possible to stop the ritual Jon had not dared to hope yet, not having any means to stop the ritual. But now, for the first time in a long time Jon dared to hope. 

With new found energy, Jon went straight to the institute. There was no point in going home and trying to sleep for three hours anyways. 

To his surprise, when he entered the archives he saw that the light was on in the assistants’ office. Slowly, Jon opened the door and peeked inside to find Tim, Martin, and Basira hunched over their desks, all fast asleep. 

Basira was leaning on Tim, whose head was resting on his crossed arms on his desk. Martin had slumped back in his chair, neck bend behind in a position that could not possibly be comfortable. A strand of ginger curls had fallen over his forehead and Jon had to resist the urge to gently brush it out of his face. 

First of all showing affection like that was dangerous, especially in the institute. Second of all it would not be fair on Martin if Jon kept seeking his touch while refusing to have a conversation about the tension hanging between them. No, if he wanted to keep Martin safe by keeping him in the dark, Jon also had to keep his distance, no matter how much it hurt. 

So instead Jon ventured in the break room to put on some tea. Afraid to wake his assistants up he decided against turning on the light. He knew the break room well enough that he could find the kettle within the dimly lit space. 

Right after putting the kettle on Jon heard steps behind him and turned around happy to see one of his assistants. Instead there was an unexpected yell followed by a sudden, horrible stinging pain in Jon’s left shoulder and a scream of pain escaping his lips. 

Confused and with a groan Jon sank back into the couch in the breakroom, his right hand clutching his shoulder which was throbbing with pain. He felt something hot and wet run over his fingers. He glanced at his shoulder to find a knife deeply stuck in it. 

Seconds later the light flickered on and Melanie was standing in front of him, hands brought up to her ashen face, shocked to discover it was Jon in front of her.

“Oh god, Jon! I am so sorry,” she said and hurried over to him. “I thought you were Elias.” 

“And stabbing Elias seemed like a good idea?” Jon growled, glad that he had fallen on the couch, he was not sure his legs would be able to carry him right now. 

“Well it’s a non vital wound,” she said angrily, almost as if to tell Jon he shouldn’t be such a baby about it. 

“Very considerate of you,” he spat. 

“Oh fuck you, I didn’t mean to stab you,” Jon’s face flinched in pain. “Shit, Martin is going to kill me,” Melanie added. Jon just rolled his eyes. 

“Why do you carry a knife with you in the first place?” he hissed, trying to ignore the pulsing ache in his shoulder. 

“None of your business,” she replied. “Shall I pull it out?” 

“DO NOT pull the knife back out,” Martin’s voice suddenly boomed behind them, making both of them jump which earned another groan from Jon. 

“Never pull the knife out of a wound,” Martin yawned, apparently unfazed by Jon having a knife in his shoulder. “Do neither of you know  _ anything  _ about first aid.?” 

“I don’t think that really counts as first ai–…” Martin gave Jon one glare and Jon shut up. Instead he and Melanie shamefacedly turned their glances at the floor, like two school children getting scolded. 

“I don’t even want to know what happened at this point,” Martin added, voice tired. He didn’t even look worried, he just looked done and Jon couldn’t blame him. He knew that all of them, apart from Basira maybe, were a massive handful with a lot of self-destructive tendencies for Martin’s mother-hen complex. 

“Jon, try to move as little as possible, I’m going to go grab my coat and get you to A&E,” Martin said and turned half around already. “Melanie go disinfect your hands and try not to stab anyone else please.” 

Jon knew that Martin always was more confident and incredibly capable when someone was hurt, easily taking control of the situation without panicking. It was years of practice of taking care of his mother. Still today Martin seemed even more confident than usual. Jon had noticed how over the past few months Martin’ nervous stuttering had become less and less. The fact that Melanie followed his orders without curses said under her breath was just more proof of how much Martin had grown and changed. 

As Melanie was washing her hands over the kitchen sink, Jon suddenly noticed that she was avoiding putting any weight on her right leg. Looking closer he suddenly spotted a green glow coming from one focused point. He could taste the metallic taste on his tongue that appeared whenever he subconsciously tapped into The Beholding. Whatever was glowing in Melanie’s leg, it was not meant to be seen by ordinary eyes.

“Uhm...Melanie, what is in your right leg?” he asked. 

“I’ve got shot by a ghost in India,” she said plainly and reached for a towel to dry her hands as if that sentence was the most normal thing to say.

“And you didn’t get the bullet removed?” 

“Sorry?”

“The bullet, you didn’t get it removed?” Jon repeated.

“I mean I went to the hospital but they couldn’t find anything in my leg,” Melanie’s face grew so irritated Jon was almost afraid she would pull the knife out of his shoulder and stab him again. 

“I can see _it_ ,” he whispered. “The bullet, I can see it in your leg.” 

Melanie’s eyes widened as the meaning of the words sunk in. 

“With your creepy eye powers?” she asked, trying to be rude but her voice was slightly shaking. 

“I assume so,” Jon confirmed. “I think you should come to the hospital with us. I could direct a surgeon how to get it out.” 

Melanie was growing paler and paler and all she could do was nodd. Jon had no idea what had happened exactly in India, but it apparently had left Melanie quite shaken and the ghost bullet in her leg was not helping her work through her experience.

“Hey, ready to go?” Martin appeared again behind them, this time thankfully not startling Melanie and Jon.

“Change of plans, Melanie needs to come to A&E with us, she has a ghost bullet in her leg.” 

Martin lifted his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m not gonna ask,” he said. “Can you call a cab while you get your stuff? My phone is about to die. Forgot to charge it last night.”

“Sure,” Melanie said and turned around to leave.

As she walked off to grab her coat Jon could definitely see how she was dragging her right leg, unable to put her full weight on it. 

And then he and Martin were alone in the break room, Martin leaning against the opposite arm rest of the couch. His eyes were meeting Jon’s and Jon’s chest tightened terribly while his stomach was feeling like it had just turned upside down. It had only been two weeks since he had seen Martin last, but it had been two weeks too long.

“Hi,” he said, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. 

“Hi,” replied Martin, giving Jon a small smile. “Good to have you back.”

Keep your distance, keep your distance, Jon tried to remind himself. There were so many things he wanted to say.  _ I’ve missed you, it’s good to be back with you, I’m never leaving again. _

“Why are you all in the archives this early anyways?” he asked instead, deciding to ignore Martin’s statement. He couldn’t allow himself to slip up.

“We got taken over by research,” Martin informed him. He paused for a second before adding, “Tim found out where and when the ritual will be. House of Wax in Great Yarmouth, and it’s going to be soon.” 

“And you didn’t tell me?” Jon was shocked. This was important information. Why had they withheld this from him?

“If you were to look at your phone,” Martin said calmly, “you would see that I texted you about 12 hours ago when we found out.” 

A pang of guilt hit Jon right in the chest as he started to fumble for his phone. He knew he should have called Martin the minute he got out of Julia’s and Trevor’s clutches, but there had been so much to process. Not to mention the constant fear that they would come for him any second in the airport after finding out that he had stolen Gerry’s page. And then he had been on an airplane unable to reach Martin.

“Sorry,” he said, finally holding his phone in his hand, seeing several missed calls from Martin and unread text messages. “I’ve not really been using my phone for the last few days.” 

“I have noticed. I assumed you were busy,” Martin replied.

“I was,” was all Jon could say. He knew Martin would be upset if he told him about the kidnapping. 

“It would have been nice though to just get the occasional update in between after our last call. You know to see if you were still alive,” Martin sighed. “I mean you didn’t get kidnapped again did you?” he chuckled. 

Jon remained awkwardly quiet and his eyes were wandering down to his hands, finding them suddenly incredibly fascinating. Was this one circular scar new? 

“Jon…” Martin asked, “Did you?” 

“Maybe.”

“Christ,” Martin let out an exasperated groan. “That is the third time in one month, Jon, the  _ third _ time.”

“Well I didn’t do it on purpose!” Jon couldn't help but snap back. “It’s not like I picked up a new hobby, it’s not my fault every supernatural avatar wants to get their hands on me.” 

“Well maybe if you wouldn’t always charge head first into danger without thinking,” Martin shouted, matching Jon’s voice in heat and intensity. 

“It’s not like I have much of a choice most of the ti–...”

Melanie cleared her throat behind them. “Not to interrupt your lover's quarrel,” she said with a teasing smirk. “But I’m ready to go.” 

Both Jon and Martin blushed and chose completely to ignore Melanie’s comment. 

The cab ride to the hospital was filled with tense silence. 

Martin was upset with Jon, and Jon was upset mainly because Martin did have a point. He did tend to head straight into danger without thinking. It was the reason Daisy had been able to catch him, but Nikola and Julia and Trevor kidnapping him had hardly been his fault. 

They still didn’t exchange a single word as they arrived at the reception or when they sat down in the waiting area to fill out Jon’s form. Melanie didn’t need to fill out a form, they had decided it was the best if she just snug into Jon’s appointment.

“Do you need me here right now?” she asked and Jon and Martin just shook their head.

“Great, I will see if I can get some coffee while you do the paperwork,” she said and limped off. 

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence before both Martin and Jon started to apologize simultaneously.

“– Look, I’m sorry–”

“– I’m sorry Jon–” 

They both stopped trying to let the other go first, only to interrupt each other again.

“You were right–…”

“I didn’t mean it–...”

A short smile flickered across both their faces. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” Martin said, taking Jon’s form, and just like that their argument was over. “Still know all the details from the last time.” Jon's heart fluttered knowing that Martin had remembered his details. It was such a small thing and yet it meant a lot to Jon.  


“Unless anything has changed?” Martin raised an eyebrow at him.

“They don’t have a box for supernatural horror monsters below the gender options do they?” Jon said dryly. 

“I’m afraid not,” Martin giggled, before turning serious. “Good thing you are not a monster.” 

Jon opened his mouth to disagree, but Martin already continued speaking.

“Supernatural, yes! Monster, no!” he said. “You are many things Jon, but you are not a monster.” 

Jon closed his mouth and watched dumbstruck how Martin finished filling out his form, before getting up and taking it back to the reception.

So Martin didn’t see him as a monster, Jon thought and suddenly he felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest.

Once Martin returned and sat back down next to Jon, automatically without thinking Jon leaned over and rested his head on Martin’s shoulder.

He knew it was a bad idea, since he needed to keep Martin safe from Elias. But Jon was in pain, he was exhausted from his trip, tired and Martin’s shoulder was just so inviting and comfortable. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but Jon felt like maybe just for five minutes he could be selfish. There was a knife in his shoulder after all.

Their legs were pressed against each other on the small hospital bench, both their arms resting on their thighs. Jon noticed how close their hands were, how they were almost touching. Slowly, very slowly Jon felt his fingers edge closer to Martin’s until suddenly his pinky brushed against the side of Martin’s hand. 

Jon flinched back at the sensation of Martin’s warm skin under his finger tip, but before he could pull his hand completely away Martin’s pinky hooked around his, keeping Jon’s hand in place. 

Jon glanced at Martin carefully, without moving his head. On Martin’s lips there was a thin smile, but other than that he kept his face neutral, just staring ahead, not looking at Jon, like this was the most normal thing to do. 

Jon escaped a silent yawn, and without being able to prevent his body from doing it, he properly snuggled his head against Martin’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Martin was heavenly warm and comfortable. If it wasn’t for the knife in his shoulder Jon would have wished for Martin to put his arm around him, drawing him in closer.

So much to keeping his distance. 

He must have dozed off because the next thing he remembered was a gentle voice whispering in his ear, “Come, we’re up.” Carefully Martin helped him up and guided him to the examination room. It took Jon a minute to notice that Melanie was standing right behind him too. 

Getting the knife removed was easy. Explaining how it had gotten stuck in Jon’s shoulder was more complicated. Trying to get the doctor to remove a bullet he couldn't see from Melanie’s leg by following Jon’s direction would have been impossible. But the moment the doctor had entered the examination room Jon had felt a buzzing inside his bones. This man had had an encounter with the supernatural. 

Asking just the right questions, listening to his statement and reassuring him that he was not going insane, was all that was needed for the doctor to dig the bullet out of Melanie’s leg without question. The moment it was out Melanie’s face softened and she let out a silent  _ oh _ . 

“Better?” Martin asked. 

“Better,” she said as the doctor stitched her wound up. She did in fact look more at ease.

Once they were all done, Jon wanted nothing more but to fall into his bed. The painkillers the doctor had given him had him in a comfortably hazy state. But he knew he couldn’t. If the others knew when and where The Unknowing would happen, they needed to act. Soon. 

“I would ask if I should take you home,” Martin said as they were leaving the hospital. “But knowing you I assume you want to go straight back to the archives?” 

Jon just nodded and Martin waved over a cab. Jon was glad that he didn’t have to argue with Martin about this, he knew that if it was Martin’s choice Jon would be in bed right now. But the stakes were too high, time was of the essence and both knew that Jon would have been unable to fully rest anyways. 

On their cab ride the painkillers were slowly starting to wear off and clearing Jon’s mind. Stil he was too tired to question why his assistants had dragged him into the tunnels once they arrived back at the institute. Instead he sunk into the chair that was left in the small room Martin had found Gertrude’s body in, gladly accepting a cup of tea that Tim had brewed this time. It wasn’t bad, but once again it didn’t measure up to Martin’s tea. 

Neither Tim nor Basira seemed surprised about Melanie accidentally stabbing Jon, apparently she had been rather irritated since coming back from India, even withdrawing from Tim despite their newly founded friendship.

Quickly Jon caught all of them up about what he had found out in America. Tim and Basira had a similar shocked reaction as Martin when Jon mentioned his kidnapping. It was nice to see that they cared, Jon thought, before telling them about Gerry and how he had found out that to stop a ritual, one had to simply interrupt it once it was going.

“And how are you planning on interrupting The Unknowing?” Tim asked, his whole body tense as usual when The Circus was discussed. 

“By blowing it up,” Jon said plain and simple. 

“Yeah right,” Tim laughed. “But for real, how are we going to interrupt the ritual?”

“By blowing it up,” Jon repeated and the faces of his assistants stared at him in disbelief. “I found Gertrude’s old storage unit and one box is filled with explosives,” Jon continued to explain. “It looks like Gertrude planned to blow up the place wherever the ritual was going to happen. And I think following her plan is our best option.” 

The small room was filled with dense silence. Jon could basically see the cogs turning in his assistants’ heads, trying to process this new information. It was Basira who spoke first.

“Have any of you ever worked with explosives?” she asked. None of the others replied. “Right, I’m calling Daisy. She should be here anyways.” 

Martin was about to protest, he was not Daisy’s biggest fan, especially after she had almost killed Jon, and Tim looked slightly uneasy too. But Jon lifted his hand and stopped Martin. 

“It’s probably a good idea to have a monster hunting expert on the team,” he said and gave Basira a nod to go ahead. About 20 minutes later Daisy had joined them in the tunnels and been brought up to speed. 

“Good thing you called me,” she said with a nasty grin. “I can already see you accidentally blowing up your own leg.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Melanie’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. She was sitting on the only other chair in the room, looking about as tired as Jon felt. “What about Elias?” she then added. 

“I very much doubt that he is going to be any help in this,” Jon said bitterly. 

“No, I mean,” Melanie started to explain. “During The Unknowing he surely will need a lot of focus to watch what is going on. And if there is too much going on, say a big commotion within the institute…” 

“Then he could be distracted!” Tim finished Melanie’s thought triumphantly. Jon on the other hand did not follow. 

“And you need Elias distracted, why?” he asked. 

“Same reason we are having this meeting in the tunnels in the first place,” Melanie continued. “To get rid of him.” 

“I’m afraid I still don’t follow,” Jon turned to Martin hoping that Martin could maybe give some clarity. 

“While you were gone we have not only researched The Stranger,” Martin happily obliged. “But also how we can leave the institute. Our main plan is to get Elias arrested.” 

“Wouldn’t Elias Know about your plans though?” Jon pointed out, still not quite clear on what was happening.

“Technically yes, but we listened to another one of Gertrude’s tapes,” Martin said, a smirk darting across his face. “On it she explained that the tunnels are a blind spot for The Eye. That’s why she hid all her tapes down here in the little room. That’s why we are here.” 

“Oh,” was all Jon could say, the thoughts rushing through his head. It made a certain sense. It would also explain why Leitner had chosen to hide in the tunnels, even though he had had the help of two supernatural books. 

“So you think Elias will be so occupied by watching us trying to stop The Unknowing,” Jon slowly started to piece things together. “That if there were to be another, second distraction, he would be unable to know what was going on elsewhere?”

“Exactly!” Martin beamed. “We think we can probably get him for tax evasion. All the money he has been getting from the Lukas family and the Fairchilds, all seems highly suspicious and illegal.” 

While the Eye was unable to see them in the tunnels, Jon could still feel himself tapping into The Beholding, finding that Martin was right. The funding money for the institute was sketchy and the documents confirming it would be found in one of Elias’ drawers. And thus a plan was formed.

Jon, Tim, Basira, and Daisy would go and stop The Unknowing by blowing their venue up right in the middle of it, ideally making it out before activating the detonator. Martin meanwhile would burn statements to get Elias out of his office long enough for Melanie to break in and steal incriminating documents. Those Martin would then take to the police, leading to Elias being arrested and hopefully giving them all the possibilities to quit their jobs. 

Now that victory and freedom seemed so close, despite the horrible danger they were all putting themselves in, all of them left the tunnels in a better mood.

The day before the Unknowing Tim was buzzing, his body almost vibrating. Of course, if everything went according to plan he would get revenge for Danny, Sasha would be back, and he’d be free of the institute. It almost seemed worth throwing yourself in a situation so dangerous that certain death was a very likely outcome. But Jon understood far too well how Tim was feeling.

With Elias gone and the world not ending, there was a good chance that Jon could maybe stop becoming an avatar. If Elias was binding them to the institute and the institute was bound to The Eye, Jon could be free, could be human again. And most importantly he would finally have all the time to talk to Martin and Martin would be safe. Jon was almost relieved that The Unknowing was finally happening since he was failing to stay away from Martin and frankly he was tired of it. 

Still the idea of leaving Martin exposed to the warth of Elias as part of the distraction made Jon extremely uneasy. But at least he was not in danger of dying in a horrible explosion or by the hand of The Stranger. 

Jon and Martin were both standing on the roof of the institute, a metal basket standing in front of them, the wind howling in their ears. Tim, Daisy and Basira were waiting in a car down stairs, ready to go. 

But Jon couldn’t join them just yet. He had a promise to keep. Carefully, he took out Gerry’s page, looking at it fondly. 

“What was he like?” Martin asked. Jon was incredibly grateful that Martin had agreed to come up and do this with him. Jon didn’t feel like doing it alone. 

“He was,” Jon started, unable to come up with the right words. Sarcastic? Bitter? Helpful? Gerry had his whole life tried to escape his mother and to destroy Leitners. He had tried to make the world a better place. 

“He was a good person,” Jon finally said lamely. “I think the two of you would have gotten along.”

“Really?” Martin frowned. 

“Yeah, I think you would have melted his cynical exterior very quickly,” Jon said, unable to look at Martin, instead brushing strands of his hair out of his face only for the wind to blow them back seconds later. 

Martin just shrugged and Jon took this as the queue to take out his lighter. 

“Wait,” Martin suddenly stopped him and rummaged through the pocket of his jacket, pulling out an elastic.

“You should put your hair up,” he explained, flushing slightly. “Don’t want the wind to blow it into the sparks.” 

Dumbstruck, Jon stared at the elastic. Martin’s hair was definitely too short to be tied up, so why would he have an elastic in his pocket? 

“You left it at my place,” Martin added quickly, as if he had read Jon’s mind. 

“Thank you,” Jon said, voice suddenly weirdly hoarse. Quickly, he took it and tied up his hair. “Guess this is it.”

Martin nodded and Jon opened the lighter, flicked it on and held the flame to Gerry’s page. Once it caught enough fire, he dropped it into the metal basket. I hope you are free now, he thought as he watched the paper being consumed by flames. 

A loud honk from a car suddenly echoed up to them. Jon didn’t need The Beholding to know that it were the others waiting for him to hurry up. 

“Be careful okay,” Jon whispered as he turned to Martin. He was not ready to leave yet, but he knew he had to go. 

“Please come back,” Martin pleaded as a reply. 

It would have been easy to kiss Martin. But Jon didn’t want their first kiss having to carry the weight of being their potential last kiss. Their first kiss should not have to taste like the desperation and the rush of now or never. No, Jon wanted their first kiss to taste of more. Because there would be more kisses, they would finally have the time for more. 

So instead Jon went on his tip toes, stretched his neck, gently taking Martin’s face in his hands and pressed a short peck to Martin’s forehead. Jon could feel Martin’s warm breath against his neck as he pulled back. He stroked his thumb once over Martin’s cheek before letting go of his face and taking a step back.

_ I love you _ , he thought. Once he was back and everything was over he would finally be able to speak these words out loud, instead of having to weave them into his stare everytime he and Martin locked eyes.

“I will,” Jon promised, hoping Martin knew what he meant and then he turned around and left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many times will I make them almost kiss and give them tender hand moments instead you ask? A lot. 
> 
> As always feel free to leave kudos/comments, I do reread them all the time while writing a new chapter. They always make me very happy. 
> 
> My next week is super full so I cannot promise that the next chapter will be up next week, but I try to get it done within the next 10 days or so. 
> 
> Title are lyrics taken from [As The World Caves In](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwXseZSjLsw) by Matt Maltese


	13. I don't wanna see I don't wanna feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am still alive, sorry this took so long life was....stressful. 
> 
> Anyways pspspspsps timsasha fans come get your juice

Of course Jon didn’t come back. And neither did Tim, not really. Sasha however did. 

When it happened Martin was sitting in the archives, unaware of what had gone down in Great Yarmouth yet. His eyes were red rimmed, but he had stopped crying. 

Elias had been cruel, reaching inside of Martin’s head, showing Martin just how much his own mother really had hated him, but, after what Elias had done to Melanie, Martin had expected something like this to happen. 

He had not expected it to hurt this much. While his tears had stopped, his shaking had not. When Melanie had found him again, waving the documents in her hand, the smug smile on her face had faded immediately. 

She and Martin had never been that close, but instantly she wrapped her arms around him, after all she was the one who knew exactly how he felt. Holding him tightly, she promised Martin that they would make the bastard suffer. 

It was the reason why she had gone to the police instead of Martin and Martin now was trembling in the break room, sitting on the couch, clutching his long grown cold cup of tea tightly to his body. He didn’t notice when the yellow door manifested behind him. 

Helen cleared her throat making Martin flinch, before he turned his head around. Martin had met Helen a couple of times while Jon had been in China and America. After changing from Michael to Helen, the Distortion avatar had essentially decided to move into the archives. 

And despite the much more gentle tone of Helen’s voice compared to the shredded laughter that was Michael’s, Martin still felt a shiver run down his spine every time Helen stepped outside her yellow door. Especially when he had not expected her. 

“I believe _this_ ,” Helen chirped and dropped a very limp body onto Martin’s lap, “belongs to you.”

Martin just about managed to put his mug down and to catch the person, keeping them from falling onto the floor. 

The person turned out to be a black woman, long dark curls falling into her face. Her eyes remained closed but she was breathing and Martin could feel her pulse underneath his finger tips. 

“Helen?” he asked, still trying not to drop this person. “Who is this?” 

Helen shot him an amused look. “Well it’s our lovely Sasha of course,” she giggled before stepping back into her door and disappeared. 

Martin forgot how to breathe for a second. Slowly, he pushed loose strands of her hair out of her face, and carefully began to study her features. She _did_ look like the woman from the polaroid. But she did not look like Sasha. 

As if on queue the woman opened her eyes, filled with panic, her body tensing up immediately and she gasped for air as if she had just come up from the depth of the ocean. The moment she spotted Martin’s face she visibly started to relax.

“Martin,” she said and slowly sat up, slipping off Martin’s lap onto the other side of the couch. Her hands were resting on his forearm, as if she was afraid to let go.

“Hi,” he croaked, not sure what to feel or what to say. 

She was searching his eyes for recognition, but Martin knew she wouldn’t find any, and the woman’s face fell as she realized.

“You don’t remember me,” she noted quietly. There was no disappointment in her voice, only pain. Martin, unable to speak, just shook his head. In that exact moment Melanie returned to the archives.

“Hey, police should be here–….SASHA,” Melanie entered the break room, her eyes landing on the stranger. No, Martin corrected himself, not the stranger, Sasha. 

“Melanie King?” Sasha asked, taken aback by Melanie’s reaction. She hadn’t been there when Melanie first started working at the institute, Martin realized.

“You’re back,” Melanie said with a sincere smile, Martin wasn’t sure he had ever seen her smile before. 

Martin knew that when Sasha had been the original Sasha that Melanie and her had only had maybe two conversations, but he knew they had gotten along, gushing about haunted pubs. 

“You remember me?” Sasha asked weakly. Melanie nodded and cautiously took a step towards Sasha. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Have this entire time. Don’t know why I was chosen, but it’s good to see you again.” 

Sasha nodded, trying to process everything. 

“So you remember me,” she said and pointed at Melanie before turning around to Martin again. “And you don’t.”

“Sorry,” he said. Martin wanted nothing more than to remember Sasha, they had tried so hard to get her back and yet she was more a stranger than the not!Sasha had been.

“What about the others? Where are they?” Sasha asked. 

And then it hit Martin. If Sasha was back then that meant that it had worked. The others had stopped The Unknowing and destroyed The Stranger. They had made it. 

Just as the joy started to overcome Martin, his phone started to ring. It had to be Jon. Without even looking at the caller ID he took the call and answered with a breathless, “Hi.”

“Hello, is this Martin Blackwood?” a voice Martin didn’t recognize asked on the other end of the line and Martin frowned. 

“Yes, this is he,” he said. Melanie and Sasha were shooting him a curious look. 

_“This is the London Bridge hospital,” the voice explained. “I am calling because you are the emergency contact for Jonathan Sims and Timothy Stoker. I am sorry to inform you that both of them were in an accident and...”_

The phone slipped from Martin’s hand and with a loud clang it fell to the floor, the glass of the screen shattering before the world became muffled and blurred. Reality was bending around Martin, everything was out of focus nothing got through, all he felt was the rampant beating of his heart against his ribs. 

He barely noticed two pairs of hands landing on him holding him up. There was a noise, it sounded like speech, maybe a question? It was impossible to tell. Martin felt his mouth move, but he was unable to perceive what he himself was saying. 

The first thing that broke through his haze was the sharp stench of disinfectant and bleach. Slowly Martin realized that he was sitting in the hallway of a hospital, nurses and doctors rushing past him, not taking notice of him as if he was invisible. Martin didn’t feel like he was properly existing anyways. 

He just barely noticed that Melanie and Sasha were sitting next to him, eagerly awaiting a doctor to inform them about Jon and Tim. 

Instead Basira joined them. She was limping, arms covered in bandages, a big plaster on her left cheek. Her eyes seemed hollow and the dark circles beneath her eyes endless. 

Melanie instantly jumped up and gently guided Basira down on her seat. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice filled with a very uncharacteristic worry. “What happened?” 

“The Circus knew we were coming,” Basira said after sitting down. “ Everything was wrong and twisted and nothing felt real anymore. Daisy and I faced off those two delivery guys, I lost sight of Jon and Tim.” 

“The next thing I remember was that Daisy had charged after _Laurel and Hardy_ , and Jon, Tim and I were all standing across from Nikola. Tim was holding the detonator, he wasn’t meant to press them until we were out of the building.” 

“But he didn’t have much of a choice. He looked Nikola dead in the eyes and said ‘eat me’ before pressing the button,” Basira voice was shaky and she needed a moment to gather herself.

“Jon pushed me out of the way and then….then threw himself over Tim. Then the explosion hit,” she took a deep breath. “I think we would both be dead if it wasn’t for Jon.”

That self sacrificing idiot, Martin thought and had to bite his lip to keep the tears from spilling out of his eyes. 

“And Daisy?” Melanie asked.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Basira’s tired face twisted into a painful expression. She simply shook her head. 

“Oh Basira, I’m so sorry,” Melanie said and put her hand on Basira’s shoulder. Sasha remained quiet.

It was that moment a doctor finally chose to inform them about the state Jon and Tim were in. 

Tim had a heart beat. Jon on the other hand was clinically dead. Well almost dead. There was frankly no reason to keep Jon hooked up to several machines and monitors. Under normal circumstances clinically meant giving the relatives a moment to say goodbye before rolling the body into the morgue and clearing the hospital bed for the next patient. 

With Jon that was not the case. 

Martin loved and hated the hospital staff for it. Hated that instead of Jon they saw nothing but a mystery they could solve and publish in a medical journal. But he was also thankful that they artificially kept him alive. It meant that there was still hope. Hope that Jon would come back. After all he had made Martin a promise had he not?

Martin tried not to give into his initial panic and sadness but it was hard not to when he saw Jon for the first time. His lifeless body was hooked up to so many tubes and wires, several machines were beeping and surring and the tiny hospital room in which no one spoke a word seemed unbearably loud. And Martin felt incredibly lost.

During the first few days Martin barely left Jon’s side. He only left the hospital to go home to sleep and to shower. Or to go to the archives and grab a statement he would read to Jon. Martin knew that it probably did very little to nothing to help Jon heal, but Martin at least felt less helpless when he read for Jon

He almost felt bad about spending more time with Jon than with Tim. But usually Sasha would be with Tim and Martin right now just could not be around her. 

It was an awfully sunny Saturday afternoon when things changed. Martin suddenly noticed hazy fog rising from the floor of Jon’s hospital room. Like usual Martin had been sitting next to Jon, reading a statement, his hand resting next to Jon. The fog could mean nothing good. 

“Hello Martin,” a voice said behind Martin and he flinched around. 

Behind him next to the door, that Martin could swear had neither open nor closed, stood Peter Lukas. Like the last time Martin had seen him, he was wearing a heavy navy coat despite it being a hot summer day. 

“What do _you_ want here?” Martin hissed protectively. If Peter was here for Jon, he would have to go through Martin first. 

“Just here to check up on you,” Peter said with a kind smile, actually sounding sincere. “As new head of the institute I want to make sure all my employees are in the best shape.” 

Martin froze and let the words sink in. 

“New head of the institute?” he asked, scared of what the answer might be. When Peter spoke again Martin’s fears were confirmed. 

“Elias may have gotten arrested, but he made sure that his institute stayed in capable hands,” Peter made a dramatic break before taking a few steps closer to Martin. “My hands.”

“I assume that means we still can’t quit?” Martin said bitterly and got up from his chair, trying to shield Jon from Peter with his body. Peter was far too close to Jon for Martin’s liking. 

“Afraid not,” Peter’s grin grew further as he yet took another step closer. Martin shivered, the temperature in the small hospital room had suddenly dropped immensely. He would not be surprised if his breath would form a little cloud. 

“So is this your way of telling me to show up on Monday on time?” he spat. He knew it wasn’t wise to antagonize an avatar, but Martin just felt so much rage burning inside him that he didn’t care.

“Not directly,” Peter had finally stopped moving closer, but his face was so soft it was nauseating. “I’ve come to make you an offer. Work for me.” 

Martin raised his eyebrows. 

“I thought I already was?” 

“Not in the archives,” Peter explained. “Come work for me as my personal assistant.” 

“The eldritch manifestation of being alone needs a personal assistant?” Martin snorted. “Sounds kinda counterproductive.” 

“Usually you would be right,” Peter replied and the blood in Martin’s veins turned to ice. “But there is something about _you_ , Martin, that tells me you are perfect for the job.” 

It wasn’t a threat per se, but Martin felt the fear slowly clawing its way from his legs up to his chest. He swallowed heavily, trying to control his breathing, but his heart fluttered with panic and distress. 

“Think about it,” Peter said and gave Martin a pat on the shoulder before turning around and leaving. Just before he reached the door he stopped though and turned around. 

“Oh before I forget it,” he said and took a statement file out of his large coat pocket. “This statement by Adelard Decker might be of interest for you and your little friends. A new fear is on the rise and it has its own very special apocalypse,” he added with mocking suspense, put the file down on Martin’s chair and left for good this time. 

A shiver ran down Martin’s spine and he turned back to Jon. Out of habit he took Jon’s limp hand into his own.

That’s when he noticed it. The letters on his wrist had gone from pitch black to a shallow grey. 

While he had been cold when Peter Lukas had touched him, Martin was now absolutely freezing and it felt like all the life was slowly drained out of him. A hysterical _no, no, no, no, no,_ escaped his lips, while his eyes were rushing back and forth between Jon and his wrist. 

This couldn’t be happening. His mark was fading. Which meant three things: His soulmate was slowly dying. Jon was his soulmate. Jon was slowly dying. 

Martin had tried his best to keep it together, but to keep his composure up any longer was impossible. Harrowing sobs broke free from him as he hunched over Jon’s hospital bed. 

When he had fallen in love with Jon, part of Martin had always hoped that they might have been soulmates. After all Jon had spoken his words. Martin had had far too many day dreams involving love confessions and kisses and words of confirmation. 

He had never imagined he would find out that Jon was his soulmate when it was far too late and Jon was dying.

Jon was dying. It really hit Martin and he almost choked on his tears, his fingers still clutching Jon’s oh so cold ones. And for what?

Sure, they had stopped the Unknowing, but it had almost killed both Jon and Tim. Not to mention that they were all still tied to the institute, one horrible eldritch monster gone just to have another one in charge of them all. Oh and of course, there was another fear and another apocalypse knocking on their door. It had all been for nothing. 

After that day life seemed like a never ending spiral downwards. Martin was embraced so tightly by mourning Jon and Tim, that when the call came to inform him that his mother had died, it barely touched him. 

There was a painful sting when he was told that his mother’s last wish explicitly had been for Martin _not_ to attend her funeral. She hadn’t wanted Martin to be in her life, so she didn’t want him trying to say goodbye either. 

His grandmother’s passing a few days later was more of a shock. 

Two funerals within a week was too much, especially when Martin was not allowed to attend the first one and unable to attend the other. One look at his almost completely faded mark at this point told Martin that possibly there would be a third funeral soon. 

Hot tears were falling from his face onto his mark, as if they were trying to wash away the last pathetic remnant of pale ink. 

Jon was as good as dead, Tim was in a coma. Basira was mourning Daisy, Melanie was burning with fury about still being stuck at the institute and Sasha was a stranger. 

His mother had died hating him and his grandmother had died leaving Martin completely alone. 

What even was the point of it all anymore, Martin thought, before making a decision.

A day later Tim woke up, but Martin did not come to see him.

*********

The first thing Tim noticed was the pain in his throat. 

The second thing was that there were fingers intertwined with his own. He still had not opened his eyes, but he felt the warmth and the weight of the hand in his own. 

Slowly his eyes blinked open and Tim realized that he was lying in a hospital room. Exhausted and in pain he started to shift slightly. 

Then he spotted her. On the right side of his bed was a woman sitting, half asleep in a chair, her fingers intertwined with his own. Tim’s stirring seemed to have awoken her as her own eyes started to open. As she saw that Tim was looking at her she almost jumped out of her chair. 

“You look rough, Timothy,” she said through a tired smile, looking more exhausted than Tim felt. Gently she squeezed his hand, but Tim’s insides coiled and he wanted to pull his hand away. 

“Do you want some water?” the woman’s voice was suddenly concerned and to Tim’s relief she finally let go of his hand to give him a plastic cup filled with ice cold water.

Thankfully he took it, and slowly started to sip on it. His dry throat immediately felt better.

Tim himself grew more uncomfortable however, finding himself under the eager stare of the woman. Was she a nurse, he wondered. But she had been far too intimate with him for a nurse. Plus she didn’t wear any scrubs.

“Who are you?” he finally managed to say. Disappointment flickered over the woman’s face.

“You don’t….no, no of course you don’t, stupid,” she scolded herself, letting go of his hand. “Martin didn’t remember so why would you?”

The way she said it hurt Tim more than the wounds on his body. And then he suddenly remembered. He had seen this woman once before, on a polaroid.

“Are you Sasha?” he croaked and her head shot up, her eyes meeting his. “The real one?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s me.”

Tim was searching her face, hoping to find even the tiniest hint of familiarity in it. But all he saw was the features of a stranger.

“Do you…?” she asked hopefully, but Tim shook his head.

“Just the polaroid, I’m afraid,” he said softly.

“Figures,” the woman nodded and bit her lip. Then something seemed to break inside of her and even though she turned her head to the side, Tim could see that there was water forming in her eyes.

“I’ll go get Melanie then,” she jumped up on her feet and rushed towards the door.

Tim wanted to tell her to wait, to tell her that he didn’t mind her company even though he didn’t remember her, but it would have been a lie. Instead all he said was, “Yeah, I think that would be for the best.”

The woman gave him one last, quick nod, trying to hold back tears and then disappeared through the door to get Melanie.

After that Sasha, or the person who claimed to be Sasha, stopped visiting. Melanie however, came and visited Tim regularly, and on occasion she brought Basira along too. Martin never showed his face.

When Tim asked after him, Melanie sighed deeply before explaining that Martin now worked as Peter Lukas’ personal assistant. And that apparently meant cutting all ties to his former friends, hiding in one of the offices on the third floor.

There was the occasional note or email from Martin, but no one had seen him since he had accepted the job. All Melanie knew, was that Martin was working to stop the Extinction, yet another wonderful fear entity out there about to destroy them all.

Which was fan-fucking-tastic news, alongside the fact that they all could still not quit the institute. Still, mainly he couldn’t help but worry about Martin, and even though Melanie and Martin had never been close, Tim could tell that she worried too.

Thanks to Jon throwing himself on top of Tim, most of Tim’s body – if you ignored the internal bleeding from the pressure of the explosion that had gotten him into a coma in the first place – had remained unharmed or healed quickly. Apart from his wrist. Where before the Unknowing had been nothing but blank skin, was now a red, thick scar.

Tim got nauseous every time he tried to look at it for longer than a few seconds. It always looked like it was moving, changing somehow in texture and colour. Maybe he would have to start to wear a leather bracelet like Jon, Tim thought.

It took about a month for Tim to recover enough to return to the archives and several more prescribed sessions of physical therapy. Peter Lukas had officially given him time off, which apparently had been good enough for The Eye. But as soon as Tim had physically recovered enough, a familiar nausea overcame him.

Tim was just as pissed as the rest of the assistants that he was still bound to the institute, but after having gotten revenge for Danny, the anger inside of him had slowly ebbed.

And so, about four months after he had left the institute to stop the Unknowing, Tim returned to work. It felt strange walking the stairs down to the archives knowing that neither Jon nor Martin would be there.

Instead the woman who was supposed to be Sasha was going to be there. From Melanie Tim knew that Sasha had with ease fallen back into her position as researcher and was mainly focusing on finding cases related to the Extinction, while Basira and Melanie focused on all the other statements.

Unease overcame Tim as he reached the door to the archives. He knew there was no point in drawing it out any longer, sooner or later he would have to face this Sasha.

He inhaled deeply and stepped into the archives. They technically looked just like he remembered them, but they felt different. More lifeless and empty. Expecting to run into one of his coworkers Tim walked through the break room, but no one seemed to be there.

He could feel his heart beating up to his throat as he entered the assistants’ office, hoping to find Melanie or Basira. Unfortunately all he found inside was Sasha, hunched over her desk, eyes glued to a statement.

She looked up as Tim closed the door behind him, giving him a smile that faded instantly once Tim didn’t return it.

“Where are Melanie and Basira?” he asked instead of greeting her. Being alone with Sasha was uncomfortable and having Melanie or Basira as a buffer would make things a lot easier.

“Out on a case,” Sasha explained. “I think they are both hoping that shooting an avatar will give them some sort of catharsis.”

“So it’s just you and me then?” Tim’s stomach twisted.

“I’m afraid so,” Sasha replied, very well aware of how uneasy Tim was.

They stared at each other for a moment, both very awkward and tense. Sasha eventually cleared her throat, mumbled “anyways,” and returned back to her work.

Tim tried not to sigh and sat down at his desk as well, grabbing the file on top of it and turning on his computer. The silence settled between them like a cold wall of fog. Tim shivered.

It went on like that for a long while. Tim would enter a room and Sasha would leave it or ignore him, their conversations were reduced to the bare necessities, words often gritted through teeth.

Both of them were drowning in sadness. Tim wanted to remember Sasha he really wanted to. After all she had been his best friend, his confidant, the person he had been in love with. And yet, every time he looked at Sasha, all he saw was a stranger. She wasn’t his Sasha. Not anymore.

Melanie and Basira returned from their follow up, just to escape the archives again for another case. Any chance to stay away from the institute without upsetting the Eye they took.

Sasha and Tim were denied that luxury since their forte had always been theoretical research and not field work, unless one counted Tim seducing several police officers.

And so he and Sasha were trapped in the archives together.

The worst thing was the guilt Tim felt. On some days he caught himself wishing that the old Sasha was back. Only that the Sasha in his memories, the petite, blonde woman had never been Sasha. The stranger in front of him was Sasha, the real one, and yet he wished her to be gone.

And once he caught himself having that thought and mentally scolded himself for it his guilt only grew. All he could think about was how he had been Sasha’s best friend and how she had gone through something incredibly traumatic. Something that would make her want to seek comfort in the arms of her best friend and yet that best friend couldn’t remember her.

He hated it, he hated it so much. He knew that maybe if he talked to her more, his memories might come back, but every time he tried his tongue froze in his mouth. It was just too painful, because no matter what he would say it would just be a horrible reminder to both of them that this Sasha was nothing but a stranger. Sasha would catch his eyes, every time he tried to talk to her and when he didn’t speak, anguish would wash over her face.

After a month of mutual grief, Tim decided that he had enough. It was gonna be awful, and uncomfortable, and he would probably cry himself to sleep that night, but something needed to be done.

He decided that today, he would extend the olive branch. A few streets away from the institute was a pizza place he and Sasha had spent several lunch breaks in, after all the food in the canteen could probably be counted as an avatar of the Corruption.

His heart ached when Tim thought back to all the lunch breaks he had not only shared with Sasha but also with Martin, before everything had gone to shit.

With a mix of nostalgia and melancholy he opened the homepage of the pizza place and put in an order. Pineapple pizza for him and Margherita for Sasha. He didn’t trust his memory of what he thought Sasha’s favourite pizza was and he figured one couldn’t go wrong with Margherita.

He could have just asked her, but he knew she would just get that somber hollowness in her eyes she always got when he didn't remember something about her.

Instead he just quietly left the archives to collect the pizza and returned with a nauseous feeling in his stomach. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. Maybe he shouldn’t try to bond with the person that was supposed to be Sasha.

He shook his head. An awkward lunch was better than the icy misery that was hanging between them. He put the pizza boxes down on the table in the break room, before walking over to their shared office.

Nervously he knocked on the door frame and Sasha looked up, clearly confused, after spotting Tim as the culprit.

“I brought pizza,” he said. Sasha still stared at him not knowing what was going on. “It’s in the break room,” he added.

“Thanks?” Sasha sounded unsure, not making any attempt to get up.

“I thought you could eat it,” Tim looked down at the floor, unable to stare at the face of Sasha any longer. “With me. Now.”

“Oh,” Sasha breathed. “Of course.”

The scraping of her chair against the wooden floor boards of the office was all the confirmation that Tim needed to turn around and to head back to the break room. He picked up his own box of pizza and stood awkwardly next to the table, waiting for Sasha to come in.

“I’ve got you Margherita, I hope that’s okay,” he asked, suddenly very unsure, as Sasha finally entered the break room.

She gave him a tentative smile and nodded before walking towards the box on the table. A bit more at ease Tim opened his own box and took in the heavenly smell of molten cheese, tomato sauce and sweet, sweet pineapple.

With a curious expression Sasha stepped closer to him.

“What did you get?” she asked.

“Pineapple,” Tim said and took a piece out of the box, holding it up for Sasha to see. She just nodded, something unreadable flashing across her face.

And then, in a moment of bravery that none of them really had any right to possess, Sasha suddenly snatched the slice of pizza that Tim had already lifted to his mouth out his hand and took a hearty bite.

“Hey,” he grumbled shocked, but his irritation vanished as Sasha’s lips twisted into a grin.

It was weirdly intimate for two people who barely could stand being in the same room as each other, and yet it felt like such a familiar notion. It felt right, like this Sasha was supposed to be close to him. To steal is food.

Tim felt like he was wading through the thick, cloudy mist of a deja vu, all he could do was stare at her.

“Too slow, mate,” Sasha said with her mouth full, threw her head back and laughed, pretending like her behaviour was nothing out of the ordinary. The sound of Sasha laughing was as clear as bells and a punch to Tim’s gut. This Sasha was a stranger, but god, he had missed her laugh. How could he miss something he didn’t even remember ever hearing?

“You _know_ I cannot be trusted around pineapple pizza,” she added and happily continued to munch.

The taste of metal and electricity buzzed across Tim’s tongue and he felt like he had been slapped. Pineapple pizza.

The last time they had ordered pizza into the archives had been the first week they all had been back after the Prentiss attack. Before Jon had grown completely paranoid and before Sasha had started to distance herself from Tim.

Back then Sasha had, just like Martin and Jon, wrinkled her nose and teased Tim for his horrific taste in pizza.

But the thing was Tim did in fact know that Sasha loved pineapple pizza. Tim had been surprised when he had found out. He suddenly remembered it vividly.

Back in their research days, long before they had started working in the archives Sasha had been sitting on the table of the break room, legs dangling down, devouring a slice of pizza topped with so much pineapple it was more fruit than pizza. And Tim had fallen a little bit in love with her. The real Sasha. The Sasha in front of him. His Sasha.

She noticed him staring.

“What?” she asked suddenly unsure, scared she had crossed a boundary. “There is still enough pizza left!”

A sob left his chest. The pizza box fell onto the floor.

“Tim?”

But before Sasha could say anything else Tim’s arms were flung around her, pressing her tightly to his chest, his head burrowed in the slope of her neck. Tears were streaming down Tim’s face.

“Sasha,” he whispered against her skin, “Sasha.” It was all he could say, all he could think. This was Sasha. He remembered.

“Tim?” she asked again softly, unsure as to what to make of his sudden hug.

“I remember,” was all that came over his lips.

Carefully Sasha’s fingers touched his back, like she was scared that if she touched him too much the memory of her would vanish again. It only made Tim press her closer.

“I remember,” he repeated and he could feel Sasha begin to shake under him. She was crying silently, her tears wetting his hair and neck, but he didn’t mind. All that mattered was that he remembered and that she was back. His Sasha was back.

Slowly he detangled himself from her, only for his hands to cup her face, her beautiful, beautiful face. He couldn’t stop looking at her, seeing her. How could he have ever forgotten that this was Sasha’s face.

They were both crying while also unable to stop smiling. Sasha let out a giggle and a sob at the same time making her gasp for air while Tim pressed their foreheads together, and Sasha’s hands found his hips and rested on them.

They just stood there for a moment, trying to regulate their breathing, laughter and tears spilling out of them.

“Hi,” he finally said once they had managed to calm down. Another throaty giggle broke free from Sasha.

“Hi,” she replied.

Tim reluctantly let go of her face, his hands wandering down Sasha’s arms until his fingers found hers. Happily he intertwined their hands, before looking down at them.

Then he saw it. Sasha’s right wrist spotted a similar scar to Tim’s, layered over the strange array of jumbled symbols he remembered her having. Taken by surprise he took a step back and with his left hand lifted her wrist next to his own, seeing that their scars were completely identical.

“A souvenir from the Stranger,” Sasha explained and pulled her wrist away from Tim, almost ashamed. “Basira got one too.”

“I thought your symbols were already the mark of the Stranger?” he asked, not liking that she had let go of his hand.

“Distortion,” Sasha said flatly. “According to Helen at least. Apparently I was always meant to wander for months through those tunnels not being myself. Some souls are just meant to be marked with fear rather than to be claimed by love.”

Tim thought about his previously blank wrist, how he had been neither destined to brush with fear nor love. And yet the Stranger had marked him. And yet he loved Sasha. He loved her more than any predestination could ever make him love someone.

His and Sasha’s soul may have not been formed from the same atoms, and loving her was a choice. But for Tim it was a choice where the only option was to be in love with Sasha and he would make it again and again and again either until he would die or she would ask him to stop.

Tim gently took her hand back into his, his thumb tenderly caressing the scar.

“Well fuck fate,” he said softly and Sasha looked up. Her previously shed tears had not completely dried yet and Tim slowly raised his other hand to wipe them off her face. 

“Fuck fate,” she said back, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

“Yes, fuck fate,” he repeated, voice hoarse and put his left index finger under her chin slowly drawing her face closer to his. His right hand was still clutching hers.

“Fuck fate,” Tim could feel her whisper ghosting across his skin before her lips found his.

Tim had kissed Sasha before. He had kissed her hungrily, had kissed her eagerly, had kissed her seductively, had even kissed her softly a couple of times in the aftermath of their hookups.

But this kiss was different. This kiss was not about exploration, or about getting off, neither was it secretly stolen in the artefact storage, or a selfish indulgence after a hookup that was really supposed to be the last time.

No this kiss was freely given and it held the wonderful familiarity of Sasha’s mouth pressed against his, her hands gliding over his body and his fingers finding her hair. Kissing Sasha took his breath away and made his heart hurt with all the love it contained for her. Kissing Sasha felt like coming home.

They were so entangled in each other they didn’t even notice Martin standing in the door frame looking at them. They had no idea how much the sight of them back together made his heart hurt nor did they know that this was the moment he vowed to do anything in his power to protect them. Even if it would get him killed. Not that he cared much for his own life, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I'd love to promise that it won't take me another 3 weeks again to update, but since I am bad at keeping these promises all I can tell you is that I will update and finish this fic and if it's the last thing I'll do. 
> 
> So thank you so much for you patience but also as always for your comments and kudos, feel free to leave some <3
> 
> Chapter titles are lyrics taken from [Monsters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0afRR3cJ9c)by Seafret


	14. Looking at you makes it harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do a degree that includes creative writing they said, it will be fun they said. They didn't say that it would take all my creative energy and keep me from writing anything else as a hobby. Anyways here finally is the new chapter, let's ingore how it almost took me two months.

It took a while for Martin to notice that his mark had vanished for good. He had stopped religiously checking his wrist, hoping for a miracle. Jon was dead and Martin had come to terms with it. Instead of continuing to wallow and drown in the never ebbing grief, he threw himself so much into work that most of the days he felt nothing but numb. 

Peter would occasionally praise Martin for his new found work ethic, telling him that he was making great progress. Martin didn’t buy it. No matter how many hours he hid in the empty offices on the third floor, burying himself behind a stack of statements, he never felt like they were getting any closer to stopping the Extinction. But at least it was a distraction from everything else. 

The first time he was confronted with the fact that his mark was gone was after he had started to work for Peter for about two months. Martin was like usually hiding in an office, trying to tie the Lonely as much to the room as possible to shield it from curious eyes. Martin was going through a statement, already feeling that once again it was going to lead to a deadend, when a massive bang interrupted his recordings. 

“What the…” he wondered, before the next loud bang hit. The glass full of water on his table began to shake. Martin sat completely still, waiting for another bang to follow. Just as it seemed like there wasn’t going to be one, a third one, this time a lot closer, sounded through the institute. Martin knew he should stay in his office, but the noise grew both in frequency and volume. 

He took a deep breath, got up and looked outside his office. The hallway seemed to be clear and he stepped out of the door. What the hell had been that sound he wondered, before suddenly quick and thunderous steps appeared behind him. 

“Watch out,” yelled someone before Martin could turn around, dashing past him and pushing him out of the way against the wall. As he sat up, no idea what was going on, he saw Melanie running down the hallway, followed by Jared Hopworth. At least Martin assumed it was Jared. But given that the huge man chasing after Melanie definitely had too many limbs and looked more like a massive pile of flesh than a human there was little to no doubt that it was Jared.

He had almost reached Melanie and even if Martin hadn’t been absolutley petrified, he would have never made it to Melanie in time. 

But just as Jared was about to grab Melanie with one of his many arms, Melanie yelled, “Helen, now!” before throwing herself around a corner. The spot she had been seconds before a yellow door manifested already open. Jared had too much momentum to stop and ran straight into Helen’s tunnels. The door slammed shut and disappeared, instead revealing Helen. A satisfied smirk was on her lips.

“I think I’ll be holding on to that,” she said, bending down to help Melanie up. 

“Thank you!” Melanie replied, still slightly out of breath. Very carefully she withdrew her hand from Helen’s knife fingers. 

“Any time dear,” and with those words Helen vanished again.

It was a strange exchange, seeming almost as if Melanie and Helen were friends, and Helen not a monster eating people for fun. But then again Martin had been gone for several months now, of course he had no idea what the archives were like now and how much his ex-coworkers had changed. Not that he and Melanie had ever really been close to begin with. In that moment Melanie spotted him still resting against the wall, the confusion all over his face.

She started walking over to him, straightening out her clothes. Martin felt his stomach turn as he noticed that there was a huge rip in the shoulder of her jumper, but there didn’t seem to be any blood. 

“Are you okay?” he asked her, concerned, still unable to move. 

“I’ve had worse,” she shrugged, before extending out her hand for Martin and he thankfully took it.

“Any ideas why Jared Hopworth was attacking the institute,” Martin asked as she pulled him up. 

“The archives.”

“What?”

“He attacked  _ the archives _ , not the institute,” Melanie clarified. “He marched straight past Rosie and the library, ignoring anyone inside and broke down the archives door instead.” 

“That’s….that’s strange,” Martin tried to make sense of it, but there was no logical explanation he could think of. Melanie didn’t reply. Instead she had grown awfully quiet and Martin looked up into her eyes. 

Horror was painted all over Melanie’s face and Martin followed her gaze. Her eyes were fixed on his blank wrist. Quickly, he pulled the sleeve of his jumper over it.

“Martin,” Melanie started, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“You should take the rest of the day off,” Martin said, turning away from her, his wrist pressed against his chest, as if he was trying to keep it safe. He did not want to talk about it. “Maybe go to the hospital, get checked out if you were hurt.” 

Melanie tried to reach out to him, to stop him from leaving but he shrugged her hand off his shoulder, slipped into his office and banged the door shut. He could hear her let out a sigh and then steps leading away from his door. Great, now she knew where his office was and he would have to change rooms again. Shame, he had liked this one. 

As he turned around Martin almost jumped, spotting Peter sitting on his desk, all calm and collected playing with a stamp set that Martin had never used. 

“I told you not to do that,” Martin said and walked over to his desk, starting to gather his things. Peter didn’t bother to move. 

“Are you alright, Martin? You seem... _ angry _ ,” it was easy to tell that even just the word felt uncomfortable in Peter’s mouth. Feeling anything more intense than indifference or maybe mild annoyance was a failure in Peter’s eyes and not something he experienced often. Martin knew that Peter was trying to test him, by riling him up even more. But he didn’t care, simply because Peter was right. He was angry! 

“We had a deal!” Martin hissed. “I would come work for you and in return you would keep them safe.”

“Miss King and the Distortion seemed to handle the situation perfectly well,” Peter smiled with faux innocence. 

Martin had the urgent desire to punch that smile off Peter’s face. Though given Peter’s physique Martin was more likely to hurt himself than Peter. 

“Let them get into danger again and I’ll walk,” he threatened instead and Peter let out a laugh. 

“We both know you won't,” Peter said with delight. “You are already far too comfortable with the Lonely. You won’t be able to stop serving it now. It’s far more familiar than you’ll ever feel in a room full of people ever again.” 

“And here I thought loneliness was a crowded room,” Martin’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he tried to mask how much Peter’s words were getting to him. 

Peter laughed. The sound made Martin feel like he was choking, his mouth filled with smoke. 

“A crowded room is perfect to show you  _ how _ lonely you are,” Peter explained. “But loneliness is only bearable when you are  _ truly  _ alone.” 

Martin tried to calm his breathing and to ignore Peter’s antics. He didn’t want to hear Peter’s top ten tips on how to endure being alone. 

“If there are people around you will still feel obliged to reach out,” Peter continued with a smirk. “But once everyone has left, then you can fully indulge in being lonely.” 

“Well in that case,” Martin snarked, “why don’t you leave me alone. I think I would  _ enjoy  _ that very much.” 

Peter chuckled fondly and Martin despised him for it. Peter was supposed to be a monster, harsh, violent, cruel. And yet all he ever gave Martin was soft and gentle attention that, the lonelier Martin grew, more and more started to feel like affection. Martin felt sick. 

“As you wish,” Peter said and with that he was gone. 

As Martin found himself alone he almost craved for Peter to come back. Almost. As much as Martin hated Peter, his company was still preferable to the solitude Martin found himself getting lost in. 

He grabbed the rest of his stuff, not that it was much other than a couple of statement files and a half dead aloe vera plant, and moved into a new office. It was on the ground floor dangerously close to the archive. But keep your friends close, your enemies closer Martin thought. 

Then the true meaning of those words hit Martin and with panic he tried to remind himself that people, his friends, were not his enemy. The Lonely really started to leave its mark on Martin.

If that wasn’t enough Martin begrudgingly noticed over the next few days that Peter really had been right. The longer he stayed away from people the more comfortable the Lonely wrapped around him and Martin started to welcome its company. 

It became so comfortable that the next time Martin heard loud noises coming from outside he hesitated longer, wondering if he really should go and check. Peter had been right, after all Helen and Melanie had handled the Jared situation very well. But the idea of another fear avatar terrorizing his friends made Martin uneasy. And even though he knew he would most likely get in trouble for checking up on them later he got up. 

Careful not to be seen Martin slipped out of his office and down the hallway following the noises. As he realized they were coming from the archives his heart started pounding and his steps grew faster. He would kill Lukas, if anything else had happened to his friends, Martin vowed, he would kill him. 

As he got closer to the archives he realized that the noises were not screams of terror and pain, but instead laughter. He should have turned around and gone back at this point. But these days laughter was such an uncommon thing to hear from the archives that it was almost more alarming and his curiosity got the better of him. 

Making sure he was blending in perfectly with his surroundings Martin opened the door and snuck into the archives. Becoming invisible got easier every day and Martin had never been more thankful for it as he reached the break room and peaked inside to see what was going on. 

And then the air was knocked out of Martin’s lungs and his heart stuttered so much Martin wasn’t sure if it was about to collapse or combust. In the break room of the archives wrapped in the arms of both Tim and Sasha was Jon. 

It should have been impossible. Jon had died. But yet, there he was standing, alive and breathing. 

His hair was far longer now, almost reaching his hips. His skin was paler and his body so frail that the sweatpants he was wearing were in constant danger of slipping down. Jon was still beautiful. 

As if he knew that Martin was there, Jon suddenly turned his head and looked over his shoulder. For just a second Martin felt the weight of Jon’s burning gaze on him and just for that second Martin was both petrified, afraid that Jon had spotted him and at the same time he had never longed so much to be seen. 

But apparently the Lonely had grown too fond of Martin and Jon turned his head back to Tim without acknowledging him. Martin didn’t wait around to give Jon a second chance to spot him. Instead of approaching Jon, touching him, hugging him, making sure that he was really there, Martin sprinted out of the archives and back into his office. 

Quickly Martin slammed the door shut before he collapsed into his chair and a giggle escaped him. Jon was alive. The giggle slowly turned into a sob. Jon was alive and Martin couldn’t go talk to him. If he did Jon would be on Peter’s radar and Martin couldn’t let that happen. 

Martin pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a deep breath trying to calm himself. As he lowered his hands back down he looked at his wrist and for the second time today he forgot how to breathe. 

His wrist was still empty. There were no lines of black ink running across his pale skin, no words forming the sentence _I’m sorry what_. It took Martin a moment to realize the implications of this. 

If Jon was alive again but Martin’s mark was still gone, then that meant that Jon was not his soulmate. It meant that someone else was his soulmate and that Martin never had had the chance to meet them. And it meant that his true soulmate was dead. 

Martin was surprised that there was anything left to shatter inside of him. His grief over Jon suddenly felt misplaced. Of course Jon had deserved Martin mourning him as a friend and as someone Martin had loved. But Martin had also mourned him as a soulmate, had loved him as a soulmate. Even though there had been no way Martin could have known better he felt incredibly guilty, like he had withheld his love and his grief from his actual soulmate and given it to Jon instead. How it had been possible for Martin to love Jon so much when Jon was not even his soulmate was a mystery to him. It seemed like a cruel prank from the universe. Loving Jon had been the only good thing in Martin’s life and now it just left a bitter taste in his mouth, making him feel like he had been cheating on a person who had never even known that Martin existed. 

Defeated and ridden by guilt he sank further back into his chair and let the Lonely wash over him, allowing it to coat all his broken parts with bone chilling numbness until there was nothing left to feel other than cold. 

*********

When Jon woke up he was alone. He had half expected Oliver to still linger in his room, blurilly remembering Oliver visiting him in his dreams. 

Jon looked around. The room was rather spartan, white walls, white bed sheets, one empty chair, and several monitors to which Jon was hooked up with several tubes. The only indicator that someone had come once to visit him were the long withered flowers standing on a little table at the back of the room. 

How fitting, Jon thought grimmly before he was startled by an opening door. However, he was not as startled as the nurse who entered the room and let out a shocked gasp upon finding Jon alive and awake. 

After she had recovered Jon had to endure several doctors looking at his vitals, conducting several tests, poking and probing him until he was finally released. 

They had asked him if there was anyone he wanted them to contact, to which Jon had vehemently shaken his head. Calling someone posed the question who had even made it out alive from the Unknowing to be contacted. He had barely survived the explosion and Jon was sure the only reason he was alive was because he wasn’t fully human anymore. He knew he could simply use the Eye’s power and find out what happened to the others, or give them a quick call. But Jon was too scared to find out the truth. 

Instead he left the hospital in sweatpants and a too large shirt from their lost and found and called a cab. He considered going home, hoping that the institute had continued to pay him sick leave and his standing order with his bank had continued to pay his rent, so that he even had a flat to come home to. 

However, his stomach made a loud growling noise and Jon realized how hungry he was. And to his dismay it wasn’t the normal kind of oh  _ I haven’t eaten proper food in six months _ kind of hungry. It was the kind of hunger that would start in his fingertips, eager, itching to rub the paper of statements between them, spreading to his eyes gazing upon the words on the page or falling from the mouth of a poor live statement giver, before it would eat itself slowly through the marrow of his bones and eventually become all consuming if Jon didn’t take care of it. It wasn’t the first time he had felt this way, but it was the first time it completely overwhelmed him, making him see his reality in a grey haze apart from an unexplainable pull in his core, undoubtedly towards a statement giver. 

Jon shook his head and tried to focus on the here and now. He had hoped he could have avoided it longer, but he knew there was no point in trying to stay away. So he told the driver to go to the institute. 

He was almost surprised that the institute was still standing, just as he was almost surprised at the little nod and short hello Rosie gave him when he walked past the reception, like he hadn’t even been gone. 

Everything seemed so awfully normal, Jon felt like he was walking into a trap. The only thing that apparently had changed was the temperature, a shiver over came Jon as he continued walking and he started to rub his bare arms. He should have asked the hospital staff for a jumper as well. 

Anxiously he arrived in front of the door leading to the archives. He had no idea what to expect behind the door, actively ignoring the information the Eye tried to push towards him. The archives had become Schrödinger’s archives. As long as Jon didn’t enter them all his assistants were alive, Sasha was back, and ideally none of them were bound to the institute any longer. But as soon as Jon would open the door and walk down the stairs, Sasha could still be gone, Tim could be dead, Martin, Melanie and Basira in a foul mood and still trapped. 

He probably would have stood in front of the door forever, hadn’t it been for the ever growing hunger clawing itself through his insides. Jon took one last, deep breath, but right as he moved his hand towards the door handle, the door already swung open, almost hitting him in the face. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I...JON-,” a pair of arms were flung around him and Jon flinched. While Jon had always been a touch starved person, a sudden touch from someone he didn’t know now scared Jon and he felt both the scar on his hand and the one on his throat tingle. But this person didn’t seem to want to hurt Jon so reluctantly he found himself hugging the person that had emerged from the archives back. 

It took him a moment to gather himself, overwhelmed by the warmth and fondness he felt radiating from the person hugging him. No, not person. Sasha. This was Sasha hugging him. 

Shocked and ecstatic at the same time Jon freed himself out of the hug and placed his hands on Sasha’s shoulders, looking at her face. Her actual, true face. 

“Sasha,” he said baffled. He had hoped that they would get her back, but there had never been any certainty that she would actually be released from the Stranger’s hold. 

“I’ve missed your face,” he heard himself say and almost cringed. Then on the other hand both of them had almost died, he felt like he was allowed to say stuff that sounded a little bit off. 

Sasha laughed and at the same time had to wipe off a tear from her cheek. Jon hadn’t realised she had started crying. 

“I’ve missed your face too,” she said, before pulling him into another hug. “I can’t believe you’re alive,” she added, mumbling into his shoulder.

“Me neither,” Jon replied weakly. 

Sasha let go of him and this time it was her turn to just stare at his face before she grabbed his hand and pulled him down the stairs. 

“Come, the others will be so happy to see you!” 

Jon’s heart leapt with every step closer to the break room and it completely skipped a beat when he spotted Tim, Melanie, and Basira all safe and sound. 

The moment Sasha and Jon entered the room, the chatter died down. For a heart beat everything was still, then Melanie dropped the mug she was holding, people were yelling his name, and before Jon could do anything he found himself pressed against Tim’s chest. Sasha joined in and for the first time Jon felt at least a tiny bit safe. Over their shoulders he gave both Basira and Melanie a nod. 

Melanie and Basira had never been the people for hugs, but he could tell by the grin Melanie was shooting him and the small smile forming on Basira’s lips that they too were glad that he was back. 

As Tim and Sasha let go of him, Jon felt a tingling at the back of his neck. He was no stranger to the feeling of being watched, but this felt different. However, when he turned around there was nothing, just the empty hallway leading deeper into the archives and he turned his head back to his assistants. 

“You could have called, you know,” Tim scolded him playfully and Jon took him in fully for the first time. 

He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, but still a smile plastered on his face. The explosion apparently had not left any physical marks on Tim’s skin and for once Jon did not feel like a complete failure. 

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” he lied and Tim rolled his eyes. 

Jon wasn’t ready yet to voice his fear that none of them had made it. That he would have called their phones and ended up with a robotic voice informing him that _this phone number is no longer in use._ That Jon would have come back to the archives to find a lonely Melanie, filled with rage for being still trapped in the institute. Jon was incredibly glad that that was not the case. Though he was surprised to still find Melanie in the archives. He would have expected her to leave the moment she could. Something must have gone wrong with their plan. Which meant...

“Where is Martin?” he asked, the feeling of uneasiness finally overpowering his hunger in a way too much salt could ruin even the spiciest dish. The silence he was met with as an answer felt like a punch to the gut. 

“Where is Martin?” he repeated his question, his panic making it impossible to keep the strang of compulsion weaving itself around the words. The others had no choice but to fill him in. In the end Jon wished he had never asked. As someone who always needed an answer, Jon started to understand what ignorance is bliss meant; after all not knowing that Martin had left all of them behind to go work for Peter Lukas, throwing himself into the Lonely, would have hurt less. 

It took two weeks until Jon saw Martin again for the first time since he had woken up. Jon had been working on a statement – though brooding and feeling sorry for himself was maybe a more accurate term – when a familiar metallic taste formed in his mouth. 

_ Martin. _

Instantly Jon found himself rushing out of his office into the hallway just in time to spot a shadow and a shock of ginger curls disappearing around the corner. Jon sprinted after him. 

“Martin! Martin,” he shouted only to almost collide with him once he dashed around the corner. Martin had stopped walking and gave Jon a look that Jon was unable to read.

“Oh, hi Jon,” Martin didn’t sound particularly pleased to see Jon. Of course Jon had caught Martin in a bad mood before, but this felt different. Like  _ they _ were different. 

“I….I haven’t seen you,” he stated a very obvious fact.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy, so….” Martin said and turned to leave, but this couldn’t be the end. Jon had barely managed to speak with him. 

“How’s the poetry?” he blurted out instead. Martin stopped, but gave him an exasperated look. 

“I haven’t exactly had a lot of time recently, so…”

“Of course,” Jon had never felt like such an idiot in his life. They just stood there in silence for a moment. This was not how things were supposed to be. The silence between them had always felt comfortable, this one felt like it was pulling the oxygen out of Jon’s lungs to build up an invisible wall between him and Martin. 

“I miss you,” Jon hadn’t planned to say this. He had never been good at expressing his emotions, but being in a coma for six weeks makes you realize that time is precious and that being a coward will get you nowhere. So he had decided that there was no point in holding back. 

“Don’t do this, Jon,” Martin’s voice was cold, only adding layers to the wall forming between them. “Look, the others must have told you. I’m busy and I really can’t be around people!” 

There was a beat. 

“Especially not around you.” 

And then Martin was gone. Jon had blinked for a second, trying to take the words in and not to be ripped apart by them, and Martin had disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. Jon wondered what had happened to Martin to make him despise Jon so much. 

The buzzing of his phone brought Jon back to the moment. It was a text from Sasha wondering where he was. Jon looked at his watch and cursed. He had been supposed to show up at the pub for drinks half an hour ago. 

When he arrived at the pub the mood was incredibly weird. On one hand they had all made it out alive, on the other another apocalypse was waiting around the corner. Plus Melanie and Tim were both pissed that they couldn’t quit, Georgie seemed awfully distant since Jon had woken up, and Basira was still mourning Daisy. 

Everything felt awfully pointless, the only good thing was that Sasha was back. She was the whole reason everyone was in the pub in the first place since according to her “we can either be sad, or we can be sad and drunk!” 

No one seemed to be able to argue with that and that’s how they all found themselves at a pub near the institute on a Friday night. 

Georgie had her arm around Melanie, and Sasha was leaning against Tim, her head resting on his shoulder. The only free seat was right next to Basira, who was nursing a coke 

“You’re late,” Tim greeted Jon. 

“I ran into Martin,” was all Jon replied as he sat down, happily taking the pint of beer Sasha was pushing over to him. He had never liked beer very much, but right now it felt exactly like what he needed. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ ,” Jon took a sip of his beer. It was disgusting but it was perfect to wash down the foul taste that had formed in his mouth the moment Martin had left. 

Fortunately the others sensed that Jon didn’t want to talk about it and Georgie quickly started to chat about a new, ridiculous podcast sponsor she just got. This was followed up by Sasha and Basira getting into a heated discussion about some obscure book they both had read, while Tim and Melanie started to talk about working out again. Georgie pointedly seemed to ignore Jon but Jon didn’t care. Instead he drank beer after beer, nodding along in conversation, but not really contributing anything at all. 

It was towards the end of the night, Basira had already put on a jacket and Georgie was looking up trains on her phone, when Sasha turned towards Jon. 

“Jon, are you alright?” she asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet all night.” 

Jon stared at her for a second, unsure whether he should share or not before his emotions got the better of thim. 

“I just don’t understand why he doesn’t want to talk to me,” it took all of Jon’s concentration to swallow down his tears. “We...we were good before.”

He could feel the pitiful glances of his friends resting on him, not knowing what to say. Jon couldn’t face them and instead continued to stare into his glass. The bubbles shooting to the foamy surface of his beer didn’t seem to hold any answers either. 

“His mark is gone,” Melanie finally said. 

Jon’s head shot up. 

“What?” 

“His mark,” Melanie repeated. “It’s gone. I ran into him a few weeks ago and I saw his wrist and it was blank.” 

A heavy silence fell over the group. They all knew what a vanished mark meant. 

So on top of losing Jon and Tim, his grandmother and his mother dying, Martin had had to deal with his mark disappearing. It was no longer a mystery why he had decided to work for Lukas. Jon was sure if he had been in Martin’s place he would also have prefered the gentle nothingness of the Lonely to the suffocating pain of reality. The way his heart felt like it was dissolving in acid when he was thinking about Martin and his pain and how he had left Martin alone was enough to make Jon understand Martin’s decision. He still wished for things to be different. 

Jon could feel that they all wanted to say something, to break the silence, but none of them dared to speak the implications that Martin’s mark disappearing held. And Jon was glad for it. He was not ready to answer questions about him and Martin that he didn’t even know the answer to, all knowing god feeding him information or not. 

“You should probably leave,” Jon said and lifted his glass. “I’m almost done anyways, you don’t need to wait up for me.” 

Neither of his friends looked convinced, but they could sense that he needed a moment for himself. 

“Text us when you get home, Boss,” Tim ordered, causing Jon to roll his eyes but promising he would let them know. Then they finally left Jon alone and he downed the rest of his beer. 

Jon could still not believe that Martin’s mark was gone. It made sense though, Jon thought. After all he had died. And apparently he had not come back human enough for Martin’s mark to return. Maybe he was soulless, or maybe avatars had to be so devoted to their entity and the mark their entity had left on them, that they couldn’t be someone else's soulmate. 

Jon took the hem of his sleeve and slowly peeled it back revealing his wrist. His eyes were fixed on the black letters like they could spell out the answer. But not even the omniscient knowledge of the Eye could tell Jon what it meant when your words changed. 

Jon hadn’t noticed straight away that the words on his wrist no longer said  _ Hey, sorry; you haven’t seen a dog have you _ . He had only noticed about a week after he had returned from the hospital. It had been a late night, he had been working in the archives and missed Martin, knowing how Martin would have scolded him for staying so long. 

Longing for Martin, Jon had looked at his wrist and had had the scare of his life. He may have never found any comfort in the words on his wrist, and yes he had for most of his life hated the concept of soulmates, but that had been before Martin. Only that now, the words on his wrist no longer matched the first words Martin had ever spoken to him. 

Instead they now said:  _ I see you _ . 

Maybe it was the mark left by the Eye, after all it was all about seeing and watching. But then none of his assistants had a mark like that and Jon was sure their souls were just as much marked by the Eye as his. He was also pretty sure that Elias’ didn’t have the words  _ I see you _ tattooed on his wrist either. Not that Jon had ever bothered to check. The Eye here at least informed Jon that Elias’ wrist in fact was blank. No surprise there, Jon couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be Elias' soulmate. 

The only thing Jon knew was that he was too late. And that he would regret forever not having told Martin how he felt before everything went to shit. Now neither of them would ever know what it felt like to be with your soulmate. 

And then with horror Jon realized that, as much as he hated it, he still had the Eye. Martin had nothing. Martin was truly alone. And it was all Jon’s fault. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone leaving a comment, you really kept me motivated to keep writing.
> 
> As always feel free to leave kudos and comments <3
> 
> Also not to self promo but I actually did a tiny bit of writing in December and wrote some [nsfw Martim](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990591)  
>  if that's you jam maybe check it out. 
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics from [Already Gone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FbZvDba6ew) by Sleeping At Last


	15. Rescue my heart I'm deep underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a new chapter already and it only took me two weeks and two days rather than two months? Well miracles do happen my lovely readers. Also this is now the longest fanfic I have ever written which is like insane to me, originally I thought this was going to be around 20k words but here we are. 
> 
> Also as you can see I added a chapter number to this fic, unless one of my chapter turns out massive and I decide to split it this story will end with 21 chapters which is quite soon, ahhhhh.

The archives were quieter than Jon had been used to. Tim and Sasha often were in their own little world, catching up on lost time as much as possible. 

Melanie, while never as angry and aggressive as she had been with the Slaughter bullet stuck in her leg, was still upset that she was unable to quit, the anger always still bubbling under the surface of her skin. As a result she still continued to do follow ups that allowed her to spend most of her time outside of the archives. Jon truly didn’t mind, after all getting stabbed once by her had been enough. 

Basira however, was by far the worst. She had always been rather quiet, nose buried in books or statements and Jon had thought he had found in her a kindred spirit to some extent. However, now Basira’s silence was heavy and loaded with sadness. While Jon and Tim had been in a coma the loss of Daisy had never felt so intense. But now that both of them had made it out alive Daisy just seemed like a casualty, like no one really cared that she was gone. Except for Basira. 

It wasn’t his fault, Jon knew that it wasn’t his fault. Basira knew too, and Jon knew that she didn’t blame him. And yet, every time Jon looked at her the guild inside of him gnawed through his brittle bones. So Jon was glad that Basira went out with Melanie most times. 

Today was once again one of those days that both of them were out and Tim and Sasha were disappearing behind stacks and stacks of research. Jon told himself that he didn’t mind the solitude. If it just wasn’t for the quiet. What years ago he would have called a distraction and rolled his eyes at he now missed dearly. He missed knocks on his door, he missed being brought tea, he missed Martin.

Jon had always thought that the expression of an _aching heart_ had been over the top and melodramatic. But right now he ached like his heart was being peeled heart string by heart string like a tangerine grief couldn’t wait to eat up. Just because being an avatar granted him special healing abilities, didn’t make him immune to pain. 

The worst thing was that the Eye was completely useless. Jon had tried to know several times either where Martin was or what his plans were, but the only thing that had come out of it was a nosebleed and Jon becoming unconscious for several minutes. So all he could do was trust Martin that he knew what he was doing and that one day soon he would return to the archives. And to Jon. 

Just as the Eye was completely unhelpful in regards to Martin it was even more unhelpful regarding Jon’s changed mark. 

“What’s the point of involuntarily becoming an avatar of an all knowing fear god when your patron can’t even give you information about your soulmate mark,” Jon muttered to himself. 

He was in a foul mood. Not only had it been one of the quiet days in the archive but Jon also had had to read another statement about the Lonely. He had never been fond of the Lonely statements but now it felt like they were mocking him. 

Jon slammed the statement file shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Normally reading a statement left him refreshed and full of new energy. This one had drained him and a pulsing headache was forming in his forehead. 

A knock on the door distracted Jon from his misery and seconds later Sasha was entering his office carrying another statement file. 

“Here is the follow up for the Debra Marki statement,” she said and placed the file in front of Jon. “Not much to say really, she spent the last nine years in East Wood Park prison. That’s about all we could find out.” 

“Thanks,” Jon replied and Sasha gave him one of her warm smiles. “Good work.” 

“If you say so,” she chuckled. “Is there anything else you need me to do?” 

“Not for now,” Jon shook his head. “Unless you can magically come up with a solution to save the world, kick Lukas out of the institute and allow us all to quit,” he joked weakly. 

The way Sasha looked at him Jon could tell how sorry she felt for him. As much as he was sulking, he was not in the mood to be pitied. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sasha said softly before she turned around to leave. As she left Jon caught a glance of her wrist. 

“Actually, can I ask you something?” Jon heard himself ask. Sasha stopped, her hand already on the door frame. “About your time when...when the Stranger,” he continued to stutter, not sure how to even phrase his questions. Sasha let go of the door and shot him a curious look. 

“Do you want me to give a statement?” she asked and crossed her arms in front of her chest. 

“What? No…I...I just have some questions,” Jon sighed. “But I guess the tape recorder will turn on anyways.” Maybe he shouldn’t ask Sasha, he didn’t want to add to the nightmares she probably was already having. 

Sasha continued to stare at him for a moment longer before shrugging and walking back towards his desk. 

“Okay,” she said to Jon’s surprise.

“Look, you don’t have to…” he started but she interrupted him. 

“No, it’s fine, honestly,” she said and sat down opposite Jon and turned on the recorder. “Statement of Sasha James, archival assistant, regarding time spent as not herself. Recording begins.” 

She looked expectantly at Jon, but as he didn’t say anything she asked, “So, what do you want to know?” 

“Do you remember when it got you?” Jon tried his best to keep the compulsion out of the question, but he still felt the familiar metallic taste forming on the tip of the tongue alongside the words. 

“Yes,” she replied. “It was after the institute’s Christmas party. I had left my coat in the archives and went to get it, when out of the corner of my eye I saw some shadows moving down the hallway towards the artefact storage. Whoever they were, they were giggling and whispering in that kind of scream whispering drunk people do, you know. I couldn’t make out what they were saying though.” 

Jon nodded, knowing he unfortunately was exactly the person who was guilty of drunk scream whispering. Sasha continued. 

“I decided to follow them, assuming they were drunk newbies looking for a room to fool around in and were aiming for the artefact storage. Now, anyone who has worked here longer than a few months knows to avoid the place, but since it was December we just had hired a bunch of freshly graduated master students as researchers.”

“I know it was stupid to go in there alone at night, but I thought I would just dip in, tell off the newbies, send them to the empty offices on the third floor and be out of there. I even had planned to ask Tim to split a cab with me, you and Martin both had gone home at that point.” 

Sasha took a deep breath and braced herself. 

“When I entered the artefact storage I could see no one at first. But I could still hear the echoes of giggles floating through the air. As much as I hate artefact storage, I wasn’t gonna let two kids fall victim to the horrors we store in there. So I stepped in further, calling out for them.”

“I knew something was wrong. I mean artefact storage always has had that weird energy, buzzing with a certain sense of danger that just makes you want to run. But now, that energy had gone and the room suddenly felt eerily quiet. It felt like someone was breathing down my neck and I spun around to see nothing but darkness. But within that darkness, I could see something move. It was hard to make out, all I could tell that the way it moved was wrong. Automatically I stepped back, the back of my knees hitting something and when I looked down I saw that it was the table from the Graham Folger statement.” 

Jon still cursed himself that they had not locked that table away in the deepest corner of artefact storage, only accessible with a special pass. But what had happened had happened and he couldn’t change the past. Sasha continued. 

“I swear I just looked down for a split second and when I turned back the not!them was merely inches away from me. Its face was grey and stretched, it’s eyes snake like slits and it grinned at me revealing a massive amount of sharp, pointy teeth. I screamed, but before any sound could leave my mouth it latched forward and everything went dark.” 

Sasha went quiet after that sentence and Jon felt absolutely miserable. He knew this wasn’t his fault, but pretty much everything that had gone wrong recently felt like it was on him. 

“And then you came back to yourself once the Stranger was defeated?” Jon asked. Sasha let out a hollow laugh. 

“I wish,” she replied bitterly. “But no. I ‘woke up’ when the not!them had gotten a hold of me. I could see, hear and feel everything it felt. But I was completely unable to move, to speak, to take any control of my body.”

“Good lord,” Jon said. “That sounds more horrific than I had thought. I’m so sorry, Sasha.” 

Sasha just gave him a sad smile and Jon could tell that she was trying to hold back tears. She took another deep breath. 

“Anyways, the first time I started to feel like myself again was when we were trapped in Helen’s corridors. The Spiral was taking its toll on the hold of the Stranger, twisting it, distorting it. And the thing that was under the skin of the not!them was….well me,” she explained. 

“Is that all you need?” Sasha asked and Jon hesitated. He did want to ask her something more, but he didn’t know how to exactly phrase his question.

“You...well when you were not you...the...the not!Sasha we called you,” Jon stuttered.

“Yes?”

“You had a different mark,” he continued. “That’s uhm...that’s how we noticed something was off. Because of your mark.” 

“Oh it’s gone now if you were wondering,” Sasha said and held up her wrist, showing her old mess of symbols and the scar her encounter with the not!them and by proxy her encounter with the Stranger had left. 

“No, that’s not….I’m asking because…” Jon had no clue what he was even trying to ask. So instead he decided to show Sasha. He took off his leather bracelet and held up his wrist so she could see his mark. “I’m asking because of this.”

“Wow, so you _do_ actually have a mark,” Sasha let out a low whistle. 

“What? Yes, of course I do,” Jon furrowed his brows in confusion. “I just thought that it was never anybody’s business,” he grumbled and Sasha let out another chuckle. 

“Anyways, I’m asking because of the words,” Jon continued and Sasha squinted trying to read them. Then her eyes went wide as she understood why Jon had decided to share his mark with _her_ of all people. 

“I don’t think the not!them is going to come for you,” Sasha tried to reassure him, “especially not with the Stranger weakened like this after the failed ritual.” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Jon confessed. “Leitner told us already that the not!them changed your mark to mock us. Makes even more sense if the first thing you said to it was _I see you._ ”

“Then what _are_ you worried about?” Sasha asked. 

“I’m worried, because my words have changed. They didn’t always say _I see you_ ,” Jon admitted and started to nervously chew on his bottom lip. 

“They didn’t?” 

Jon shook his head again. 

“What did they used to say?” Sasha wanted to know. Jon could feel himself blush. He really didn’t want to get into it, he knew Sasha would be unhappy with him if he told her. 

“That’s not important,” he tried to avoid answering her. 

“Jon?” 

“Really, I don’t think it matters–…”

“Jon! What did it say?” her voice was stern and Jon knew he had to tell her the truth. 

“It used to say _You haven’t seen a dog have you_ ,” he said and aggressively stared at the top of his table, avoiding looking into Sasha’s eyes at all costs. 

“Jesus, Jon,” she let out an exasperated sigh, catching on immediately. “And you didn’t tell Martin?”

“I wasn’t sure in the beginning,” he tried to argue. “And I was going to tell him. After we stopped the Unknowing. But well...you know what happened.” 

“Yes, Martin’s mark vanished and yours has changed, well done Jon,” Sasha snapped.

“I know, I know okay,” he shot back, voice louder than he had intended. “I know I should have told him sooner. Don’t you think I know that? It’s been eating me up inside out ever since I found out what happened to his mark.” 

Sasha’s angry expression softened slowly as she noticed how much Jon was hurting. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout,” she apologized and slowly reached out to gently touch Jon’s elbow. 

“It’s alright,” he murmured, suddenly exhausted. “It’s not like I don’t deserve it.” 

Sasha remained quiet. Jon couldn’t hold it against her, he wasn’t asking her to lessen his guilt. Plus she had been Martin’s friend as well and she was right. If Jon had spoken up earlier, Martin probably had never gone to work for Peter Lukas leaving not just Jon but also everyone else behind. 

“Anyways, what I actually wanted to ask was,” Jon tried to stop himself from spiraling, “if you had done any kind of research regarding changing marks? I know you used to do quite a lot of research when you tried to figure out what the symbols meant.” 

“Is the Eye not providing you with any answers,” Jon shook his head. “Hmm I don’t think I’ve read anything about marks changing. But I can look into it if you want,” Sasha offered. 

“Thank you Sasha,” Jon finally managed to smile and Sasha smiled back, the tension that had formed from the moment Sasha had started to give her statement was finally leaving the room. 

“I’ll better get to it then,” Sasha said and stood up, but before she started to walk away she added, “You don’t have any theories of your own, do you?” 

“I thought that maybe when you become an avatar your human mark vanishes and a mark of your patron appears since your soul is bound to them,” Jon said. “I mean _I see you_ sounds very much like something the Eye would have as a soulmate mark wouldn’t it?” 

“I guess,” Sasha considered Jon’s thesis. “But wouldn’t that make all of us avatars of the Corruption or the Stranger given that we have their marks?” 

“Yeah, I have considered that,” Jon admitted. “But I think it’s different. I still had my old soulmate mark when Prentiss marked me, or Jude Perry or Daisy,” Jon bit his lip, god saying Daisy’s name felt wrong. “I think there is a difference between getting marked by your _encounter_ with a fear and getting a mark _because_ you have started serving a fear and become an avatar.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” Sasha said. “After all, all of us serve the Eye, but we don’t really have the same powers as you or experience hunger.” She paused for a moment. “Does that make me an avatar of the Spiral then? Given that I’ve been born with the marks of the Spiral?” 

“I don’t know actually,” Jon confessed. “Do you feel like you are an avatar of the Spiral?” 

“Not really,” Sasha said, she was surprisingly calm given the implications of Jon’s theory. “It’s like I told Tim I think I was just meant to be one of the Spiral’s victims. Also I’m pretty sure neither Helen nor Michael had a mark like mine.” 

“That sounds reasonable,” Jon sank further into his chair. "Plus it's just a theory. I could be wrong and for some reason there is another human soulmate waiting out there for me." He didn't sound convincing though. Even if there was another soulmate for him out there, which he very much doubted, he didn't want anyone but Martin. Too bad Martin didn't want him anymore.

“Anyways, I’m gonna go back to work now,” Sasha ripped him out of his thoughts and walked towards the door. “Oh and Jon?”

“Yeah,” he looked up.

“Please don’t do anything self-destructive,” she added. “It’s not gonna make him come back.” 

“I know,” he whispered, “I won't.” 

Both him and Sasha knew that it was a lie.

The opportunity to do something self-destructive arrived on a rainy afternoon in the form of a coffin, the howling and moaning from inside making its lid vibrate so much that it was almost impossible to read the words _Don’t Open_ written across it.

None of his assistants were in that afternoon when Jon faced Hope, who seemed more lonely and broken than even Jon felt. Jon almost had pity with him. But Hope was one of the reasons Daisy was trapped, and over the years he and his other now dead half Breekon had caused so much despair and horror to people that Jon couldn’t find even the slightest compassion inside of him. 

Instead he just stared at the coffin, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. The smart thing would be to wait for the others to return and come up with a solution. But Daisy had been trapped in the Buried for over six months at this point and all the guilt Jon felt was tripled by the physical presence of the coffin. Also he knew that the others would talk him out of entering the coffin trying to find Daisy. So time was very much of the essence. 

Despite the popular belief of his assistants and friends Jon was not a complete idiot. He knew he needed something that would help him either navigate the Buried or tie him to the surface. What he figured from statements was that people either survived encounters with different entities by giving themselves fully to them or by calling on an anchor, bringing them back to the real world. And Jon had a very macabre idea what could serve him as an anchor. 

“Helen?” Jon called out into the empty air of the archives.

“Yes,” a voice chirped behind Jon, making him jump. When he turned around he spotted Helen standing in front of her yellow door, wearing a purple pantsuit with neon orange patterns on it that clashed so much Jon’s eyes hurt. “What can I do for you, Archivist?” 

“Melanie said that you trapped Jared Hopworth in your hallways, is that true?” he asked and nervously rubbed his hand over his neck. His plan was absolutely insane on all accounts. 

“Why, do you fancy a statement from him,” Helen laughed but stopped when she saw Jon’s face. Then her eyes fell on the coffin standing behind Jon.

“Something like that,” Jon admitted. “I need an anchor, and I thought…”

“You thought a loose bone or organ could keep you from getting tapped in the Buried?” Helen interrupted him. 

“Yeah.” 

The yellow door behind Helen swung open and she stepped aside. 

“Well I won’t stop you,” she laughed. “It’ll be your funeral. _Literally_.” 

Hesitantly Jon walked towards the yellow door. He still didn’t fully trust Helen. 

“Will you let me out again?” he asked. 

“Jon, what do you think of me,” Helen gasped in faux shock. “I am your friend, of course I will let you out again. That is _if_ you survive your tête-a-tête with dear old Jared.” 

Even though it was not enough to convince Jon that Helen would keep her word, he had no other choice and went into the twisted corridors. The yellow door closed gently behind him. 

His meeting with Jared went better than he had expected. By which Jon meant that he made it out alive. In agonizing pain, but alive. When he returned from the hallways, his rib clutched to his chest, Helen waited for him with an amused grin. The grin only grew wider when she spotted the rib. 

“You know most people would probably use a soulmate to keep them anchored and grounded,” she giggled. “But I guess since you lost poor Martin to Peter Lukas, the rib will do.” 

“Bite me Helen,”Jon hissed and placed the rib in front of the coffin, before he pulled out the key to unlock the chains holding the coffin door shut. Immediately Jon felt the unbearable urge to open it. 

“I would, Archivist,” Helen laughed, “but I think dear Jared already took a nice piece out of you today and I am not one for sloppy seconds.

Jon just rolled his eyes as Helen bent down, closer to his face like she was about to whisper a secret into his ear. 

“And secondly, I’m curious to see how this little endeavour of yours turns out,” Jon turned away from her, he was not in the mood. “My bet of course is that you fail miserably, but it wouldn’t be the first time you’d surprise me.” 

“As I said Helen, bite me,” he snapped and took one last breath before opening the coffin and stepping onto the stone floor of the stairs. He was barely able to make out Helen shouting _Good Luck_ after him, before the lid of the coffin snapped shut and Jon was left with nothing but darkness and stairs leading deeper into the Buried. 

It wasn’t quite what Jon had expected. He knew some avatars had described the Buried as warm and welcoming, but Jon found himself surrounded by the stench of foul, wet earth and the harsh stinging of gravel and earth so solid it might have been frozen against his skin. 

What surprised him the most though, was how well he could see. Jon had expected total darkness, impossible to be penetrated by the light of the torch he had thought to brin. Instead Jon could make out a narrow pathway right in front of him through a dim twilight. It half reminded Jon of the tunnels under the institute, only that those were wider and lacked the claustrophobic energy that was radiating from the walls made out of soil around him. 

Jon hurried along. The faster he found Daisy, the faster they could leave. He could already feel the connection to his rib fading. The further Jon walked, the closer the walls and to his horror the ceiling got, until his shoulders scraped along the walls and his feet felt like they were sinking into the ground.

It was surprisingly easy to find Daisy. It was a lot more difficult to breathe as the walls caved around them, their mouths and lungs filling with soil. The second time it was the ground that swallowed them whole, spreading dust and sand across Jon’s tongue and letting it trickle down his throat. 

“Does this happen often,” he coughed once the earth had released them again, still staying uncomfortably close though. 

“Define often,” Daisy was gasping for air. “Time works funny down here.” 

Jon wanted nothing more than to lean against a wall to support himself, but he was too scared to touch the earth. 

“Fair enough,” he panted. “Anyways, follow me. I know the way.” His hand closed around Daisy’s wrist and he pulled her along. 

“Oh, do you know?” she gritted through her teeth. “It’s not like I haven’t tried to find a way out myself.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t have an anchor on the outside,” he shot back. Both of them were agitated. They had never gotten along well to begin with and the tomb made out of soil around them didn’t make things easier. 

“Well then Sims,” Daisy huffed, “lead the way to your fancy anchor. But hurry up, I’m not keen on suffocating again.” 

Jon rolled his eyes again but carried on. There only was one problem. When he had said that he knew the way, he had lied. The link to his rib had broken after the earth had enclosed them for the first time. But Jon wasn’t going to admit that. He had come so far he was not going to give up hope.

Then after hours, maybe days of wandering through the Buried he felt a massive tug suddenly in the pit of the stomach so hard that he gasped. It was different from the pull he experienced whenever he was hungry for a statement a poor soul with a supernatural encounter was in his proximity. 

The pull he got from hunger always felt like icy claws hooking themselves into his chest, yanking him along. But this one was more like someone had placed a hand on his lower back and was gently pressing him forwards, guiding him. 

And then he saw it, a thin red beam, glimmering in the darkness in front of him, reminding him strongly of a laser pointer. 

“Do you see that?” he whispered, afraid if he spoke too loud the red string made out of light would disappear again. 

“See what?” Daisy grunted behind him. 

Jon ignored her question and cautiously lifted his hands towards the beam, praying that it wouldn’t disappear the moment he touched it. When the beam met his hand a tingling crossed over his palm and Jon let out a little gasp. 

“Sims?” Daisy asked, semi-concerned behind him. When Jon didn’t reply she just added, “Okay, you finally have lost it.” 

Jon stilled stared at the point where the beam was sitting on his balm with awe. The idea that this sort of thread could possibly be Web related crossed his mind briefly. But even if it was, at this point Jon would take the mother of spiders over the Buried any day. 

As he lifted his hand the beam followed as if it was connected to his palm. Jon squinted and it looked like the light was wrapped around his pinky, like red yarn. 

There was another tug, this time coming from the red thread, Jon almost lost his balance. Whatever this beam was, Jon decided it was the best to follow. 

“Come,” he said and grabbed Daisy’s hand, “let’s get out of here.” 

The further Jon followed the red beam the stronger the pull inside of him grew, but it still remained gentle, like it would let Jon go if he decided not to follow this feeling. After a while he started to hear a low murmur as well growing louder and louder. For a second he worried that he had in fact actually lost it. But the murmur sounded familiar and friendly even though Jon could not make out a single word. 

Sure enough Jon and Daisy arrived at the bottom of some stairs, both staring at them in awe and anxiousness. 

“You think those will lead us out of here?” Daisy asked, actually having hope in her voice. 

“I don’t know,” Jon said honestly. “Let’s find out,” and with that he started walking up stairs. If it hadn’t been for Daisy, who was almost unable to walk another step, Jon would have run. He could feel the presence of something on top of the stairs, the presence of something that for once didn’t frighten him. 

“Do you hear that?” Daisy’s voice had gone hoarse while the voices Jon had been hearing for a while had become more clear. Jon nodded. With their last strength they hastily climbed up the last stairs and burst through the lid of the coffin, falling onto the floor. 

Both of them gasped for air, finally able to fully breathe, lying there, eyes closed, completely exhausted. It took them a moment to gather themselves. Jon noticed that the voices had not stopped. 

Slowly he pushed himself up on his elbows unable to fully sit up yet. Daisy did the same. 

“What the fuck,” she whispered. They were surrounded by an ocean of tape recorders playing various tapes. Jon had no idea that there had even been that many tape players in the institute let alone tapes to be played. Maybe the Eye had manifested them, trying to lure him out of the Buried, Jon thought. But he couldn’t imagine being that important to the Eye. 

Before he could contemplate it further the door burst open and Basira, Melanie, Tim and Sasha rushed inside. When they spotted Daisy and Jon lying on the floor they stopped dead in their tracks and just stared at them.

“Hi there,” Daisy croaked and gave an awkward wave. There was another beat of silence before all hell broke loose. 

Basira sank to her knees embracing Daisy tightly, given Daisy a massive fright. Jon tried to explain to Basira that neither he nor Daisy were very keen on hugs right now, but his words were muted by the angry shouts of Sasha and Tim lecturing him about his reckless behaviour. 

Surprisingly it was Melanie who screamed for them all to be quiet and it worked. 

“Look, give them some space, okay,” she said. “Yes, Jon is an idiot, but that’s not news. At least he brought Daisy back. You can always scold him later.”

Jon had never been so happy to have Melanie in the archives. It was true, he had the unhealthy habit to throw himself into danger, and Sasha and Tim had every right to be mad about it. But he needed a break first. 

“Okay, how about Basira takes Daisy to the break room to help her clean her wounds. Sasha and Tim can you please turn off the tape records?” Melanie suggested. “Meanwhile me and Jon can order some food and then once the two of them have gotten some rest we can bombard them with questions or be angry at them.” 

No one dared to argue, and Jon gladly took the hand Melanie extended down to him while Basira and Daisy moved to the break room and Sasha and Tim started cleaning up. 

“Thank you,” Jon whispered as Melanie led him back to his office. 

“Don’t get used to it,” she said with a grin, “People will think I’ll like you or something.” 

Jon let out a laugh, the first genuine laugh in quite a while. 

“Don’t worry, they’ll probably assume you want to murder me in my office, away from all the witnesses,” he joked as he fell back onto his office chair. God, his body hurt.

“That’s the plan,” Melanie’s grin grew. “I’ll get you something to drink, get some rest, yeah?” 

Jon gave her a nod as she left his office. Exhausted he closed his eyes and slumped down on his desk. The massive amount of files, scattered across his desk made for a comfortable pillow. When he slowly opened his eyes again, head still resting on the table, he spotted a familiar shade of red hiding under a couple of files. Quickly Jon brushed the files away to see where the red glow came from.   
  


It turned out to be the red scarf Jon knew Martin had knitted what felt like eons ago. Softly he let his fingers run along the intricate pattern, before he pulled it closer and buried his face in it. To Jon’s delight it still smelled like Martin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg that was so much dialogue to write, which I don't mind, I just hate writing the bits around the dialogue. Like take a shot every time I used the word "said" or "asked".
> 
> Also you can you tell I'm a big fan of soulmate tropes especially the one of you and your soulmate being connected by a red string wrapped around your pinky?
> 
> Anways as always feel free to leave kudos or comments <3  
> I also just want to say that your comments make so happy especially the folks that have been here since the very beginning leaving a comment under every chapter I feel so fortunate that you actually like this story and I just want to give you all an overal thanks. 
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [Rescue my heart I'm deep underground](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J78HcPJwl1M) by Liz Longley 
> 
> Also you know what follow me on [tumblr](https://simpingfortimstoker.tumblr.com/) if you want, I've been told I write very funny tags on posts and you get my weekly tma meltdowns.


	16. You don't know who to love until you're lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was last week days old when I found out that it's actually Breekon and Hope and not Beacon and Hope. Guess that happens when you have shit hearing and dyslexia. Anyways I present to you chapter 16:

The world was covered in an opaque haze. The Lonely was no longer just wrapping itself around Martin, but filled out the whole room. It was not as bad as the real Forsaken, but Martin struggled to see anything in his office and he was constantly shivering. He couldn't even make out the keys on his laptop. Annoyed he looked up from his screen, hoping to spot Peter somewhere standing in the cloudy air surrounding him. But no such luck, even if he had just stood at the other end of the office, Martin would have been unable to make him out. 

“Peter?” he called out, “Peter?”

Nothing. 

“Peter, I get that this is supposed to be a punishment,” Martin continued to shout, “But I can’t do my work like this. I can’t see shit!” 

“Punishment?” Peter suddenly said behind Martin, making him jump. “Is that what you think this is?” 

Martin rolled his eyes, he was not in the mood to play Peter’s games. All he wanted was to get on with his bloody work. 

“What else is it supposed to be,” Martin snarked. “I went and put the tape recorders on the coffin, waiting for Jon to return and even though  _ nobody saw me _ I broke my solitude,” he sighed. “So you threw me into this…this  _ diet Forsaken _ . To punish me,” Martin concluded. 

“I would call it a libration,” Peter hooked his chin over Martin’s shoulder and Martin felt like he was about to throw up. “A liberation from all these pesky, little emotions.”

“Of course you would,” Martin grumbled, trying not to show how much the proximity of Peter’s face to his own bothered him. The only body part he wanted to be anywhere near Peter’s face was his fist. But of course Martin couldn’t do that. Everything Peter was doing was supposed to be for Martin’s own good and everything Martin was doing was supposed to be for the greater good. Martin tried his best not to think about Jon right now. 

“After all if you hadn’t summoned me you wouldn’t have to worry about your precious archivist going to Ny-Ålesund,” Peter whispered into Martin’s ear making him shiver in disgust, before he finally stepped away and sat down across from Martin. 

“He did what?” 

Martin wanted to scream. He knew Jon had self destructive tendencies, but he had barely made it back alive out of the Buried just to go to Ny-fucking-Ålesund where without a doubt The People’s Church of the Divine Host was waiting to push Jon into absolute darkness. Martin was sacrificing so much to keep Jon safe from Peter and yet Jon was as careless as ever. 

It was tempting. Not to worry anymore. But if Martin gave in now, let himself get lost in the embrace of the Lonely he would endanger Jon even more. It also wasn’t fair on Jon. He had no idea that Martin was doing it for him. And as much as Martin wished Jon would value his own life a bit more, his selflessness and his willingness to help others was one of the things Martin admired so much about him. 

“Tell you what,” Peter clapped his hands together and a shiver ran over Martin. “I’m going to modify your gift. From now on it’s up to you how much of the  _ diet Forsaken _ , as you so cheekily put it, you want to be in. “

Martin glanced at Peter, irritated, but then got distracted the moment he realized that it was a lot easier to make out his keyboard and screen.

“So what? You just give me free range about how much fog I am going to hide in? How is that different from my other ‘abilities’.” 

“Turning invisible is to keep others from seeing you,” Peter said and stood up to leave. “Sinking into the fog is to keep you from being seen.” He opened the door but before leaving added, “If I was you I’d keep myself in the mist, you know if you don’t practice serving the Lonely enough, you won’t be able to keep the world from ending.”

“Yes, I know, I know,” Martin muttered, but when he looked up Peter was already gone. Martin shook his head and got back to work, easing up the mist around him. 

A few days later Martin wished he hadn’t. He wished he had stayed deep hidden in the fog to be seen by no one and not to be found by anyone. Particularly not Jon. 

Jon who was barging into his door having found a way out. It made sense, Martin thought. After all,  _ eyes were the windows to the soul _ . So if you removed your eyes not only would you be rendered completely useless to serve the Beholding, you would also shut off the access to your soul, cutting off the soulbond they all had with the Eye. 

And now Jon was standing in front of him asking him to run away together.

“If I did try this, I don’t want to do it alone,” he said, his eyes basically burning through Martin. “But we could leave here, you and me. Escape.” 

Jon’s voice had been gentle when he had spoken, but the words felt like darts getting thrown into Martin’s heart.

_ Please don’t _ , he thought. I am so close to beating Lukas, _ I have a plan, please don’t do this now _ . 

He wanted to say yes, to run away with Jon, to leave everything behind. But he knew it wouldn’t work.  _ Or course I want to run away with you _ , Martin thought. 

But what he said instead was cruel and cold. 

“Who are you kidding, Jon? You’re not going to do any of that,” Martin could feel how his words were laced with the Lonely. It had the desired effect, Jon’s face fell and he made a step back. 

“Martin…”

“You know I can’t do it, not now; you don’t want to blind yourself; you don’t want to  _ die _ ; what you _ want _ is a reason to  _ not _ do those things, so- you come to me,” Martin hated himself for those words. He hated himself even more for realizing he actually believed them. 

Jon looked so defeated Martin was almost glad the Lonely was by his side, numbing the pain he was causing them both. 

“Well, you’re welcome. Because I can’t follow you on this one,” Martin delivered the final blow. He didn’t need to tell Jon to leave.

Once Jon had closed the door behind him, Martin pulled the Lonely closer around himself and made his office disappear. For the first time he was thankful for Peter’s  _ gift _ . He would explain it all to Jon later, he would apologize, Martin promised himself, if he would make it out of this alive. 

But for now he couldn’t allow himself to be strayed off his path. Peter was right, the numbness the Lonely was spreading through Martin was a welcome distraction. The Lonely started to no longer feel biting cold, but rather like a warm blanket to hide underneath and so Martin hid. 

Everything turned into a blur, Martin either worked or slept. He didn’t see anyone, not even Peter until a couple of weeks later – at least Martin assumed that it had been weeks, there was no way of telling – when Peter handed him an insurance form to fill out.

“What’s this?” Martin asked confused, reading over it. “Why do we have to claim insurance?” 

“Oh you didn’t know?” Peter said, cheerful as ever. “Miss King had an unfortunate run in with a stapler. That reminds me, there should be her letter of resignation somewhere there as well.” 

Martin paled and his mouth went dry. “She didn’t,” he whispered. 

Peter hadn’t heard him and just strode through his office. If Melanie had done it, maybe Jon had done it with her? Biting hot fear was forming in Martin’s throat as he spoke.

“Is J–….did...did anyone else hand in their resignation?” 

“Nope,” Peter popped the  _ p. _ “With Miss Tonner returned I don’t think we will need to hire another assistant either. Don’t you think?”

Martin didn’t reply. He was still staring at the papers in front of him. Would Jon now follow suit that Melanie had done it successfully and survived, Martin wondered. Would he come back to ask me again? Probably not. Martin just had to hope that Jon would not do anything stupid. 

“Martin?”

Martin just shook his head. “I’ll get this done,” he said without even looking at Peter.    
  
“Wonderful, I’ll see you soon,” Peter chirped and Martin was too wrapped up in what happened to Melanie that he didn’t even feel the usual nausea he felt when Peter promised a quick return. 

This time Peter came back sooner than Martin had hoped for. He was in the middle of recording a statement about the Corruption killing almost a whole village in the North of Germany. It was deeply unsettling. But not as unsettling as what Peter said when he showed up in Martin’s office. 

“It’s time,” Peter simply said and Martin paused the recording, knowing what Peter was referring to; yet the tape recorder still continued to run. 

“Will I be coming back,” he asked, already knowing what the answer would be. 

“You’re not going to  _ die, _ if that’s what you’re asking, but – no. If all goes well, you won’t be,” Peter confirmed Martin’s fear. 

“How does that make you feel?” he asked as Martin got up. 

“Nothing,” Martin led out a hollow laugh. “Nothing at all.” 

“Perfect,” Peter grinned at him and gestured to Martin to follow him, clearly having bought Martin’s lie. In reality Martin felt more than he had in a long time. No matter how much the Lonely had gnawed at him, it had never managed to fully chip his feelings away, even though it had been so tempting to fully give in into the Lonely. Everything he had felt over the past six months had been muted and muffled, but now that he was almost at the end of his journey emotions started to bubble up. 

He knew that even if he played Peter successfully and didn’t start serving the Lonely with all his soul, he would not come back. But Peter would be gone and Jon and the others would be safe. And that was worth it. 

As Martin followed Peter down to the center of the panopticon he wished he had had a chance to tell Jon goodbye. To tell Jon that he loved–...well it didn’t matter now. 

In the end Peter lost and  _ that _ was all that mattered. And then the Lonely consumed Martin and the world that had been subdued for so long fell completely into a void and Martin fell with it. Oddly enough it felt like coming home. 

************

As far as possible worst days of Jon’s life were concerned, today was definitely in the top five. It all had started with two tapes Jon had found on his desk. Suspicious, he and all of his assistants – apart from Tim who for some reason was late – sat huddled around Jon’s desk as he pressed play. The first tape had revealed that whatever Peter Lukas was planning was happening now and that Martin had gone with him. 

The second tape was even more disturbing. It was a live recording of Elias murdering Gertrude. Only that Elias turned out to be Jonah Magnus. Who turned out to have vanished from prison, as Tim informed Jon, breathlessly bursting into his office, just as the tape ended.

This wasn’t a coincidence. If Elias...or Jonah could have escaped the whole time, why do it now? The answer was obvious. He was headed to the panopticon. And if Jonah was going to the panopticon as well, to have whatever weird showdown with Lukas, then Martin was in even graver danger than before. Jon’s head was swimming. Even for an avatar of the Eye this was a lot of information to process.  _ Martin was in danger. _

“Jon?” he felt how Sasha gently put a hand on his shoulder. There was no time to be overwhelmed, they had to do something, now! So Jon gritted his teeth and formed a plan. 

“You two go to the prison and see if you can get more information,” he told Tim and Sasha. “Just in case Elia–...Jonah isn’t headed to the panopticon.” 

Tim and Sasha both gave him stern nods. 

“On it,” Sasha said at the same time as Tim asked, “And you?”

“I’m gonna go after Peter and Martin,” Jon looked at Basira and Daisy, “Are you coming with me?” 

“Well, someone needs to make sure you don’t die again,” Basira said. Daisy was already making sure her and Basira’s guns were loaded. Jon took that as a yes. 

Then Tim wrapped Jon in a quick hug and whispered, “Bring him back, okay Boss?” before grabbing Sasha’s hand and walking out of the archives. 

Jon allowed himself to watch them leave for a moment, knowing that they would probably be the safest of all of them. He was not ready to lose them again. 

“Right,” he turned to Daisy and Basira. “Time to go to the tunnels.” 

Just as they reached the trapdoor there was a scream coming from above them, followed by gun fire. 

“What the fuck was that?” Daisy snarled, Basira automatically put her hand on top of her gun. 

Jon shut his eyes and the Beholding immediately showed him no one else but Julia Montauk and Trevor Herbert walking through the institute, firing shots in random directions and laughing. Thank God nobody on the institute staff seemed hurt though. Mostly because Julia and Trevor were not here for them. They were here for Jon and they were headed for the archives! 

“Why the hell are they coming for you Jon?” Basira groaned after Jon had informed her and Daisy what was happening. 

“I may have stolen something from them,” he admitted sheepishly but before Basira or Daisy could yell at him there was a banging on the door to the archives. 

“Somebody home?” the rough voice of Trevor traveled all the way down to the trap door. “We have some bones to pick with you Jonny boy!”

The banging grew louder. 

“Might have to roughen up some of your co-workers if you don’t come out,” Trevor threatened, but in that moment Jon already heard the door crash open. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed. Steps were rapidly coming closer to them. 

“You go after Martin,” Daisy growled, “We’ll take care of those idiots.” 

“No, I can’t let you two–”

“Jon, leave!” Basira said and pulled out her gun. “We’ll see both of you when this is over!” 

“Okay,” Jon whispered before he turned around and ran into the tunnels, hoping that his friends would still be alright when he returned with Martin. 

Jon could hear the moment he entered the Loney. The echo of his steps in the tunnels was suddenly muffled by the fog that curled around his ankles. Two seconds later the whole world was white and icy and Jon felt like all the warmth was being ripped out of his body. 

He couldn’t tell how much time passed as he wandered around, shouting out Martin’s name hoping to find him, until he finally spotted a shape in the distance. 

“Martin!” Jon screamed, his steps growing faster and faster until he was sprinting. “Martin!”

But as Jon ran closer he noticed that the person was a lot taller and broader than Martin and to his dismay he realized that it was Peter Lukas awaiting him and not Martin. 

“Archivist,” Peter greeted him, smug and smiling as always. “I’m surprised you came. To what do I owe the pleasure of welcoming you in my domain?” 

“I’m here to get Martin back,”Jon hissed as Peter towered over him, “And to make you pay for what you have done to him.”

He had no idea where his confidence came from. He was in Peter’s domain, who even without his eldritch powers was a mountain of a man and Jon had no chance neither in physical combat or when it came to see who was the stronger avatar. However, Jon felt the familiar metallic taste of static on his tongue and he knew the Eye was with him. He didn’t know how yet, but he would make Lukas pay. 

“What  _ I  _ have done to Martin?” Peter pressed his hand to his chest like Jon had wounded him. “Wasn’t it  _ you, _ who belittled him, who yelled at him, brushed him off at every corner. And then you died, leaving him all but completely alone, robbing him of the one thing that had always given him solace: His soulmate mark.” Peter shook his head with fake compassion. “You didn’t even bring yourself to tell him, poor lad.” 

“I came back!” Jon knew it was a weak excuse, but he had come back. Unfortunately just too late. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that his mark vanished because  _ you died _ ,” Peter said, unfussed. “Well, human you at least.” 

“And let me guess people who come back as monsters don’t get soulmates?” Jon rolled his eyes. 

He didn’t care if Martin no longer was his soulmate. It didn’t change the fact that Jon needed Martin. That Jon loved Martin. And if Martin didn’t love him back, then Jon would still get him. Because he was selfish, selfish enough that he did not want to be in a world where Martin Blackwood did not exist. 

“Actually no,” Peter said and a cruel smile formed on his lips. “You do have a mark don’t you?” he added and nodded towards Jon’s wrist. 

“Yeah, but Martin’s mark is still gone,” Jon tried to make sense of what Peter was saying. “I just thought that was a mark from the Eye.” 

Peter laughed. “Our patrons are far more likely to leave marks in more painful ways,” his eyes wandered over Jon’s visible scars. “The Desolation leaves burns, the Corruption insect bites and so on. But you’ve had plenty of experience with that.”

Jon hated the way Peter was mustering him, like he was a catalogue of fear and suffering. 

“But some entities prefer leaving scars on your mind,” Peter continued. “Like the Dark, the Vast, and your Eye of course.” 

“And the Loney?” Jon asked. 

“Oh the Lonely doesn’t leave any marks,” Peter chuckled. “It only likes to take marks away.” 

Jon’s mouth went dry as realization hit him.

“So Martin’s mark?”

“Oh there wasn’t much to take away.I really ought to thank you though,” Peter grinned. “If you hadn’t died, his mark wouldn’t have faded and I would have had a lot more struggle recruiting him.”

Jon felt sick. After all what made you feel more alone than the loss of a loved one. 

“But even without you,” the fog around Jon grew tighter as Peter spoke, “Martin was always meant to end up here.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The Lukas family is not the only family serving the Lonely,” Peter said. “Martin’s mother really did a terrific job preparing him for the Forsaken. What a  _ deliciously _ lonely child he was. He would have ended here a lot earlier,” Peter gritted his teeth. “If it hadn’t been for Elias hiring him when he was 18. But the Eye has always been fond of stealing our servants.” He looked off into the distance with an odd mixture of fondness and disdain. 

“Anyways,” he caught himself, his eyes back on Jon, “Martin has made his choice! And it wasn’t you.” 

“Shut up!”

“He’s left you,” Jon felt the cold fog rushing into his lungs. “Just like everyone else eventually will.”

“Melanie already did,” Jon whispered in horror realizing that Peter was right. “And Georgie went with her.”

“And?” Peter’s voice was soft and understanding, the freezing air had stopped biting Jon’s cheeks and had begun to numb them. 

“And Sasha and Tim are looking for another way to quit,” Jon was having trouble to see Peter anymore. Everything was so hazy. 

“That’s right,” Peter whispered. 

“Daisy and Basira are probably dead.”

The realization stung. They were dead because of him. Melanie had lost her eyes, because of him. He had caused Sasha and Tim so much pain. Jon let his head hang down, unable to carry the weight of his guilt. 

“You’re alone, Archivist,” Peter said exactly what Jon thought. “The last one standing. I did warn you. I did want you to leave, but… perhaps it would be better if you stayed a while. After all – you can’t  _ hurt _ anyone in here.”

“Yes,” Jon seemingly agreed. For an eldritch fear monster Peter Lukas was extremely gullible. Of course Jon felt guilty a lot, but he knew that Sasha and Tim had forgiven him. All Melanie had wanted was a way out and she had been willing to do whatever it takes. The Eye already provided Jon with the knowledge that Basira and Daisy were fine. 

“Yes,” Peter repeated his empty words and was about to vanish into the fog, but Jon’s head snapped up, pinning Peter down with his gaze. 

“Or you could answer some question,” he said flatly and for the first time Jon had seen Peter Lukas afraid. 

Jon was not a violent person. But nothing had ever felt so satisfying than killing Peter Lukas did. 

He had taken Martin from him and now Jon would get him back. He charged deeper into the Lonely. There was a warm pull in Jon’s stomach and as he squinted he saw a thin red glow leading deeper into the fog where the shadow of a familiar silhouette stood. Martin! Jon would get him back!

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always feel free to leave some kudos/comments <3
> 
> Can't tell you when I'll update next as I am currently also busy trying to write something for jontim week but Imma try to be fast, y'all I am so excited to give these boys some fluff! 
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics taken from [5am](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qge9mS3umFk) by Amber Run


	17. It's Hard for Me to Go Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the fluff I have promised you for weeks now!! It's the return of tender hand touches and oh so much longing and oh so much yearning. Fun fact I actually wrote this chapter at the same time I wrote chapter 3 so when I opened this in google docs to edit it, I had to do a double take on how different my view of Jmart was when I first started to write this baby. Also it's now been six months since I started writing this, which is like so so wild to me. Anyways have fun reading.

Martin could still feel the echo of Jon’s fingers on his cheeks and his eyes burrowing into his soul. 

_ I don’t just want to survive.  _

_ I’m sorry.  _

_ Martin. Martin, look at me. Look at me and tell me what you see.  _

_ I see...I see you, Jon. I see you.  _

There had been so much more Martin had wanted to say in that moment when Jon had eased him out of the cruel grip of the Lonely. But all that had come over his lips had been, “I was on my own, all on my own.” 

Jon’s arms had wrapped around him and held him close, his hands stroking through Martin’s hair. 

“Not anymore,” he had promised and for the first time in a long time Martin could feel his heart stutter as if coming back to life, before settling into a calm rhythm. He was in Jon’s arms, he was safe. “Come on, let’s go home.” 

And so Martin had followed Jon. He didn’t quite notice when they left the Lonely and entered the tunnels again. His vision was still in a haze and his thoughts not any less cloudy. While he no longer was alone, the weight of loneliness, that had settled so comfortably between his shoulder blades, still pressed on.

Martin’s eyes trailed down to where his fingers were still entwined with Jon’s. Was this….was this real? Or was this just another one of Peter’s cruel tricks, letting Martin have this brief moment of comfort and joy, only to reveal it to be a daydream and have Jon vanish into thin smoke again, enforcing Martin’s feeling of being alone even more.

But Jon didn’t dissolve into the dark shadows of the tunnels. Instead he kept pulling Martin back towards the archives, his hand gripping Martin’s tighter with every step. Martin tried to focus on that sensation. On the feeling of being touched no matter how minimal it was. It felt like he was holding his frozen hand under a hot tap, unbearable and overwhelming, but the unyielding numbness was slowly flowing out of his fingertips and so he held on. He just wanted to feel again, no matter how much it hurt. 

Martin only barely registered that Jon muttered something about hunters loose in the institute and how it would be best if they went home. Martin felt himself nod, afraid to look up and to take his eyes off their hands. 

They didn’t let go of each other when the snug out of the institute, or when riding the tube, even when Jon only very awkwardly got the keys out of his pocket to open his door, he still held on to Martin’s hand. Exhausted they both stumbled through the door. Martin’s flat technically had been closer, but Martin had refused to go there.    


“Too empty,” he had whispered and Jon had understood. Jon’s flat wasn’t an image of hominess and comfort either, given that Jon basically lived in the archives at this point. But at least the Lonely had not extended its long claws to it yet. 

Under normal circumstances Martin would have been ecstatic. He had always imagined being invited over to Jon’s flat for dinner, knowing what an excellent cook Jon was. He would have walked through his living room, glass of wine in his hand, and inspected Jon’s bookshelf, asking him about his favourites. He would have looked at the little personal knick knacks and pictures of Jon as a child. He would have thought that the colour of Jon’s curtains was atrocious but not said anything, knowing that they had belonged to Jon’s gran. Jon would have put dinner on the table and things would have been lighthearted and intimate and wonderful. They would have been happy. 

Instead Jon had to gently guide Martin onto the couch as Martin himself was on the brink of collapse. He vaguely noticed that Jon’s bookshelves actually were sparsely filled and nothing personal was to be seen anyway. But maybe Martin was just too blinded by the aftermath of the Lonely to notice. All he knew was that he was cold and that Jon was still holding his hand. 

“Would you...uhm would you like some tea?” Jon asked, his voice an intricate mixture of soft nervousness. 

Martin blinked. He tried to think. Tea sounded….good? He liked tea, right? When working for Peter, Martin had stopped taking breaks, stopped making tea. He had always made tea for other people, making tea just for himself had felt wrong. And Peter Lukas was definitely not a tea drinker. So Martin had stopped drinking tea. The warm liquid was too much of a comfort anyways for someone who was sinking into the Lonely. 

“That would be nice?” Martin finally croaked, unsure. Jon smiled seemingly relieved. 

“Okay, I’ll be back in a second,” he said and for the first time since he had found Martin in the Lonely let go of his hand. Jon’s flat immediately got a few degrees colder, Martin tried not to shiver.

Jon’s living room bled into the kitchen, a breakfast bar marking out the border between both rooms. Jon gave Martin a quick, warm smile while filling up the kettle and rummaging through his cupboards for mugs. Martin couldn’t take his eyes off him. The absence of Jon’s hand in his own burned worse than Jon’s actual touch had. Jon was right there, only a few, quick steps away, and yet it was still too far. A chill draft wafted over Martin.

Martin wanted more, god, he needed more. He needed Jon to wrap his arms around his waist, to pull him closer, to gently stroke Martin’s hair while Martin pressed his head into the crook of Jon’s neck. 

Maybe a year ago Martin would have been able to, before the Unknowing. Before Martin had cut Jon out of his life, even though it had been for Jon’s own good. Martin had dared to hope that maybe Jon had, even just for the tiniest bit, returned his feelings. But that hope had now completely gone. Whatever feelings Jon may have had, if any, definitely had vanished over the past months, Martin had not expected them to last through his absence in Jon’s life. 

God, he wanted to touch Jon again so badly. 

But he couldn’t, he wasn’t allowed–, he didn’t deserve–

“Martin, hey, hey Martin,” Jon’s voice ripped through Martin’s thoughts. His vision was blurry and he couldn’t quite make out Jon’s living room anymore. He heard hurried steps and fabric rustling. “Hey, stay with me Martin,” Jon sounded panicked and it took Martin a second to realize that he had slipped away back into the Lonely for a moment. 

His vision slowly returned. Jon’s hands were on Martin, one gently cupping his face, the other one around his neck. It wasn’t uncomfortable but there was desperation in the way Jon held onto Martin’s neck. Jon held him just like he had in the fog of the Lonely. Martin was suddenly aware that Jon’s face was mere inches away from his own. 

“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbled hoarsely, unable to look Jon into the eyes. “It’s hard staying out...out of it.” 

“It’s alright,” Jon whispered, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the base of Martin’s neck, “No need to apologize.” 

Martin wanted to laugh. There were so many things to apologize for.  _ I’m sorry for leaving you in the dark _ , he thought.  _ I’m sorry for brushing you off, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything. I’m sorry you had to go into the Lonely for me.  _

Instead he just squeaked, “Tea?” 

To both his relief and agony Jon let go of him. 

“Yes, of course,” Jon said and rushed up to get their cups of tea. Martin exhaled slowly, his eyes glued to Jon, trying to stay out of the Lonely. 

The problem was that every time he looked at Jon he was overcome by such a tsunami of emotions he hadn’t felt in months rendering him completely overwhelmed. He felt the tendrils of the Lonely wandering up his spine, whispering in his ear that all the burden of those emotions could easily disappear. Martin’s inner turmoil could vanish in an instant, if only he gave in and welcomed back the unyielding fog.

Swiftly, as if he could tell that Martin was slipping again, Jon returned to the couch, sat down on the small couch table in front of Martin and handed him a cup of tea. 

“Here,” he said softly as Martin lifted the steaming cup to his mouth. Jon watched him expectantly as he took the first sip. It tasted good, the right amount of sweet, the perfect splash of milk. It tasted exactly like Martin remembered his tea had tasted. Better even, as every cup of tea was improved if it was made by someone you were fond of. 

“It’s good,” he whispered and lowered his arms. 

“I’m glad,” Jon smiled softly and then, very casually put his hands around Martin’s hands, still clenched around the cup of tea. Martin forgot how to breathe. God, he had missed Jon. And he would savour every single little touch Jon was willing to spare him. 

*********

It had been half reflex, half desire to cup Martin’s hands with his own. Martin’s hands had always been soft and warm and comforting to Jon. But when he had first taken Martin’s hands in the Lonely it felt like his fingers had dug into snow. It only made Jon more determined not to let go of them, to bring them back to warmth. He had missed touching Martin’s hands. Even though Martin would most likely never again take Jon’s hands like he had before everything. 

They had used to be so comfortable around each other, with each other. And now Martin’s expression when Jon was touching him was unreadable. Maybe it was the aftermath of the Lonely and getting used again to touch, Jon hoped. Maybe though, it was just that Martin didn’t want Jon to touch him like this anymore, but needed an anchor to stay out of the Lonely and Jon was the only one available. 

Jon was horribly afraid that if he actually let go of Martin, that Martin’s eyes would go cloudy, his face cold and empty, and that Martin would not come back to him again. 

Jon was being selfish and he knew it. But he couldn’t stop. Jon knew what it was like to lose a limb, two actually, but the pain didn’t even come remotely close to what it felt like letting go of Martin. 

And so he didn’t. He said too close to Martin, knees knocked together, his fingers wrapped around Martin’s hands, waiting for Martin to pull away or to scooch away from Jon. But he didn’t. 

Instead he just looked at their hands while Jon looked at him, neither of them saying a word. 

What do you say to someone you love so much it feels like a collapsing star, too bright to bear and an all consuming dark void at the same time, knowing that the other person doesn’t love you back. At least not anymore. 

It wasn’t that the silence was uncomfortable and tense, Jon had always appreciated that Martin was one of the people he could just be quiet with. But right now the lack of noise felt dangerously close to the muffled static of the Lonely. 

_ Talk to me _ , Jon wanted to say.  _ Tell me anything, anything you want. I would even listen to you talk about spiders right now _ . But Martin already struggled to get a few words out, his vocal cords still coated with thick, salty air.  And Jon was afraid that if he opened his mouth an avalanche of confessions, apologies, and too long repress feelings would spill out, burying Martin under the emotional weight of it all. And so Jon remained quiet too. 

Martin pulled his left hand away from Jon’s to lift the cup again to his lips and Jon was already in motion to let go of Martin’s right hand as well. But Martin quickly turned his wrist around and pressed his palm against Jon’s, before gently pushing his fingers into the space between Jon’s, as if to say  _ don’t move away. _

Jon cleared his throat. “Do you….do you want to watch something?” he asked, hoping to somehow stop the silence from swallowing them whole. “I think  _ Bake Off _ is on.” 

The Eye, ever so kindly, supplied him with the information that  _ Bake Off  _ was in fact on, and that it was bread week. Jon didn’t need the Eyes help to know that that was actually Martin’s favourite week. 

Martin just nodded and without letting go of his hand Jon moved onto the couch right next to Martin and turned on the tv. 

For a while the silence was only disturbed by the chipper music from the television and Noel Fielding’s soft voice narrating what was happening. Only when Prue and Paul Hollywood showed up on screen Martin made a small noise of disdain. 

“You alright?” Jon asked, immediately worried. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Martin reassured him. “It’s just…,” he paused for a second, “Prue will never be Mary Berry.”

Jon blinked dumbstruck a couple of times before the meaning of Martin’s words sank in. 

“No,” he said slowly, “no, she won’t.” He chuckled slightly when a thought occurred to him. “She almost feels like the not!them version of Mary Berry.”

“Oh my god, you’re right,” Martin giggled and the sound of it almost made Jon cry. His eyes were fixated on Martin, who stared back at him, left hand lifted to his mouth in shock, as if he was surprised that he was able to laugh. It made Jon want to weep for a whole different reason.

Martin dropped his hand back into his lap and slowly turned his head back to the tv. Jon did the same. He wished he could put his arm around Martin, to pull him closer, to console him. But Jon was already hyper aware of how his legs were pressed against Martin’s and how Martin’s fingers were still entwined around his own. 

When it came to declaring the star baker and the baker who would go home that week, a soft snoring informed Jon that Martin had fallen asleep. Carefully not to wake him Jon took the cup of tea away from Martin’s lap and put it on the couch table before getting up to get a blanket. Tenderly he put it on top of Martin and when Martin didn’t stir Jon dared to remove his glasses with the precocious skills of a master thief. 

At last he grabbed a pillow for himself placing it on the floor next to the couch, before kneeling next to the arm rest and staring at the sleeping Martin. He knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t resist slowly letting his fingers soothingly run through Martin’s hair, with childishly naivety hoping it would keep the nightmares away. 

Originally Jon had wanted to offer Martin the bed and taken the bedroom floor himself so that Martin wouldn’t have had to be alone in Jon’s bedroom. But Jon knew that Martin would have argued with him and offered to take the couch. In return Jon would have offered to sleep on the living room floor so that Martin once again didn’t have to be alone. Only that Martin would have found that unacceptable too. And then it would have ended with both of them sleeping on the living room floor. So letting Martin fall asleep on the couch had been the best solution. 

Of course Jon could have made the obvious suggestion of sharing the bed. But that would have been taking advantage of the delicate state Martin was in and as selfish as Jon was and as much as he longed to fall asleep with Martin in his arms, he was not going to make Martin that uncomfortable. 

Jon still tried to make sense of it all. In the Lonely Martin had said  _ I see you. _ Jon could feel the words on his wrist burn thinking about it. But Martin had also said  _ loved _ , past tense. And as far as Jon was aware, Martin’s wrist had remained blank. 

Maybe Martin was Jon’s soulmate after all, but Jon wasn’t his. Afterall the Lonely had taken the mark from Martin, it wasn’t implausible that it had also taken Martin’s love for Jon leaving him unable to return Jon’s feelings. 

Still, Jon realized, it didn’t change anything. At least not for him. He still loved Martin, always would. And once Martin was no longer in need of an anchor, Jon would respectfully take as much space in Martin’s life as Martin would give him. As long as Martin would not completely leave him again it would be enough for Jon. 

He drifted off leaning against the couch, his fingertips still brushing against Martin’s curls. His dreams were filled with seemingly white nothing, but Jon knew better. Still it was the best sleep he had gotten in a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not me projecting onto Martin claiming his favourite bake off week is bread week, but I guess kinnies gotta kin and slow burns gotta slowly burn. 
> 
> As always feel free to leave comments/kudos they make my day <3 
> 
> Chapter title are lyrics from [To Be So Lonely](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PPK-6FeJ9A) by Harry Styles


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